


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap*TB23Copyright No* 

Shel 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








































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UNCLE SAM’S BABIES. 


Uncle Sam’s 
Babies 


Stories 


/ BY 

M? G. BONESTEEL 


¥ 


NEW YORK 

CATHOLIC SCHOOL BOOK CO. 
28 BARCLAY STREET 



Copyright, 1895 
Catholic School Book Co. 


DEDICATED 

TO MY HUSBAND 


<L 1b. B. 


Q 






CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Olaf’s Christmas Gift; or, the Christ-Child’s Messengers 3 
Charles O’Malley - - - - - 25 

The Lively Littles; or, Quarters No. 10 - - 43 

How Polly was Lost - - - - 125 

Capt. Dwyer’s Experiment - * . - - 13 1 

Patsy’s Puddings and Pies 141 

Little Brown Bag - - - - - 153 

Jack’s Summer Campaign - - - - - 175 

How Marjorie Ran Away - - * 185 





OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT; 

OR, 

THE CHRIST-CHILD’S MESSENGERS. 


TT was a broiling July Fourth that the “ double quar- 
* tet” from Fort Barry visited the near-by Sioux 
Indian Agency and spent a day and night there. The 
Indians had a big pow-wow and dance, at which 
unlimited beef and dog-stew were consumed, and an 
equal amount of tall stories and brag indulged in by 
the ex-warriors ; all of which was intensely interesting 
to the boys, four in number, James Harold, known 
always' as Jimmy; Francis Parker, Edward Smith, and 
the “ Kid,” a lively irrepressible of six years, the young- 
est hopeful in the Smith family, Dickey by name. But 
the girls, “the fairer half of the quartet,” as Frank 
Parker sentimentally called them, were most interested 
in the Indian Girls’ School, or orphanage really, and 
spent their time there, for most of the thirty inmates 
were either orphans or practically deserted. 


4 


OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT / OR, 


It was delightful to have Mattie Crazy-Eye get up, 
make her bow, and recite glibly enough “A Soldier of 
the Legion lay dying in Algiers ” ; it was funny, too, and 
the girls had hard work to keep their faces quite 
straight; still not for worlds would they have hurt the 
feeling of the gentle sisters and their bright young 
charges. 

Elinor Smith who stood in the often time trying 
position of responsible elder sister to the “ Kid,” was 
brimful of tact, and she it was who discovered how 
very clever the Indian girls were with their needles. 

Elizabeth Stone, Betty for short, the “Tomboy,” 
discovered the babies, and took the queer little brown 
orphans to her heart at once ; they ranged from one to 
six years, and were as good as they were cunning. 

“The dear, patient, little mites,” cried Betty, “they 
haven’t a single decent plaything; “ girls, we must do 
something for them,” continued warm-hearted Betty. 

“Yes, we must,” echoed Fanny and Ellen Brent, who 
always followed Miss Betty’s lead. 

The pretty young sister who was showing the girls 
through the building, smiled and looked pleasant. 

“It would be exceedingly kind of you to remember 
our little ones, young ladies. Why not send them a 
Christmas box? Last year we had nothing for them but 
some candy, apples, and a few bright-colored holy 
pictures, and yet the poor things were as delighted as 
could be.” 

“ A splendid idea, sister,” the four girls exclaimed 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 


5 


warmly; “we will send them a fine box at Christmas. 
Just give us a list of names and ages, so we’ll know how 
to suit our gifts to the children.” 

“In the meantime, sister, I have a little pocket- 
money with me ; do get the babies some toys and books 
to play with now, Christmas is such a long time to 
wait,” said Elinor, the provident, who was never known 
to have an empty pocketbook, whilst the other girls 
smiled ruefully. They never had a penny a week after 
pay-day. 

And Elinor was not a bit stingy either, no one so 
ready to lend as she ; “ but Elinor manages somehow,” 
the girls would say. 

But Elinor’s explanation differed a little. “It’s all St. 
Joseph and a little self-denial, girls; I always carry 
this dear little St. Joseph in my pocketbook; mother 
brought it to me from Vienna, and then I say a tiny 
prayer to that dear saint, that I may just always have 
enough to give a little, and that’s all there is to it.” 

“Elinor, you are such a Catholic Catholic!” ex- 
claimed heedless Betty, “now why should St. Joseph 
give you a full pocketbook?” 

Fanny and Elinor were not Catholics, so they too 
listened eagerly to Elinor’s little explanation. 

“ Well, you see, girls, it’s just this way,” began Elinor, 
earnestly, her sweet face flushing a little; she found it 
difficult to speak of her small acts of devotion. “St. 
Joseph had to work to support our Lord and the 
Blessed Virgin, and they were poor as we know, so 


6 


OLAF'S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 


poor St. Joseph most probably had money-troubles like 
most of us poor mortals, and it is a quaint old Catholic 
tradition that if one carries a small image of the saint, 
and will say a prayer for that intention, good St. Joseph 
will see that one’s purse is never quite empty.” 

All the way home the next day the boys and girls 
discussed the “Christmas box” with the officers and 
ladies who had accompanied them on their outing, and 
the grown people promised to aid them in every possi- 
ble way. 

And Miche, the French half-breed teamster, who 
drove the “gray mule- team” ambulance, smiled ap- 
proval on the young people as he listened to their 
kindly plans for his little Indian brothers and sisters, 
as he mentally termed them, and then and there he 
planned a fine hunt, a real deer hunt for the boys, as 
the best he could do to reward them for their good 
hearts. 

Miche was quite a character, every one in the garri- 
son liked the lad and had a kindly word for him ; he 
was a protege of P£re Jolet’s, and served mass always 
on the good priest’s monthly visit to the post. 

He had been the mail-carrier for a year or so, a dan- 
gerous task in winter, when the wide Missouri was 
frozen over in huge blocks of ice, with fifty miles of 
mountain road to travel to the nearest railway station, 
often with the thermometer at 30 degrees below zero, 
and the fear-of a blizzard blowing up at any time. 

No one envied the lad his job, and the boys, his great 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 


7 


friends and ardent admirers, were very pleased when 
the quartermaster gave him the position of teamster. 

And Mich£ actually drove “the gray mule-team,” 
behind which, before Miche tamed them, no post lady 
would risk her life ; “ he actually drove them gray devils 
without swearing at ’em,” so the other teamsters ex- 
claimed in wondering amazement. 

He not only drove them without swearing at them, 
but by his loving kindness so conquered their obstinate 
mule hearts, that they became as gentle as lambs, and 
answered to their names like tame cats. Now, all these 
persons, animals, and things, are important, for they 
all had their share in bringing Olaf his Christmas gift. 

The visit to the Indian Agency. 

The little Indian children. 

The girls and boys of Fort Barry. 

The gray mule team, and, finally, last but by no 
means least Mich6, the Indian teamster. 

II. 

No real work was done about the Indian Christmas 
box until “ Hallow’een.” 

The quartet were having a gay little party at Betty 
Stone’s. Their governess, whom all the eight boys and 
girls shared, had given them a holiday for “All Saints,” 
so that the party had received permission to keep 
up until ten o'clock, a rare concession and a great treat. 

It was after they were quite tired out with bobbing 


8 


OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT; OR , 


for apples in a tub of water, burning chestnuts, and 
melting lead, in which pursuit Dickey had burned not 
only his fingers but a hole in his best trousers, and had 
howled so dismally that the sentry walking past on No. 
2, right in rear of the officers’ quarters, had stopped 
and rapped at the kitchen door to find out what could 
be the matter. 

To soothe poor Dick’s wounded feelings and create a 
diversion, Frank suddenly asked: 

“What have you girls done about that Christmas 
box for those Indian young ones?” 

“ Not a thing, I’m ashamed to say,” replied Elinor 
penitently, “but we have been so busy since school 
began, there hasn’t been much time; Ned was speaking 
of it at breakfast this morning.” 

“I have tried my best,” said Betty, “ to save a little, 
but oh, dear! where the money goes, I can’t imagine; 
I’ve got just two dollars to contribute.” 

“Well, Betty, that’s a good deal for you,” remarked 
Frank, teasingly ; “if a girl I know wasn’t so fond of 
canteen soda water and candy, the poor Indian’s young- 
ster would fare better.” 

“Never mind him, Betty,” said Elinor, “soda water 
days are over now, and the canteen candy isn’t good 
anyway, so you will be able to do better.” 

“I tell you, boys and girls, let’s each write on a slip 
of paper what we can give, and Frank, being our prize 
mathematician, can sum it up, then we’ll know how 
much money we have got to earn before Christmas.” 


i 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 9 

“I’ve got forty cents and a Canadian half-a-cent,” 
shouted Dickey, “but I am only going to give half, be- 
cause I’ve got other people to buy Christmas presents 
for, and I don’t like ‘Injun’ children very well any- 
how, they're awful dirty, most always, ” 

“ Not half as dirty as some little white boys I know,” 
answered Elinor, severely, in her elder-sister manner. 

“Yes, I know,” replied Master Dick, serenely, 
“Micky Ryan and those; yes, they are pretty dirty.” 

They all laughed at Dick’s calm ignoring of his 
sister’s intended rebuke. 

“We are wandering from our subject,” said Jimmy, 
“come on now, Frank, with your figures, how much 
cash have we to buy useful and ornamental gifts for the 
wily savage.” 

“Twelve dollars and sixty cents,” answered Frank, 
“ not a bad showing, still we ought to, have more.” 

“ Let’s have a play,” suddenly exclaimed Betty, “and 
charge twenty-five cents admission ; mamma has some 
splendid ones written for children ; she played in them 
at the Convent; one especially would be fine, it is a 
Colonial play, and the plot is that the only son of the 
Governor of Massachusetts, a little fellow of five or six 
(that’s you, Dickey), is stolen as an act of revenge by 
the order of an Indian chief, Powhasset. I know the 
play almost by heart, I’ve read it so often. 

“ The child is finally rescued through the efforts of a 
dark-haired Indian maid (that’s Elinor, for she’s a 
brunette) and a Jesuit priest, who is trying to convert 


IO 


OLAF'S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 


the tribe, and has succeeded with the chief’s lovely 
daughter, Waketa, otherwise Elinor. 

“The chief has a wicked son who is the villain of 
the play; you could take the part beautifully, Frank.” 

“Oh, thank you,” interrupted Frank, sarcastically. 

“ It’s a splendid idea, Betty,” chorused Fanny and 
Ellen as usual; “but,” said Fanny, “how could they act 
such a play at a Convent, Betty, where there are no boys?” 

“Oh, easy enough,” answered Betty. 

“The big girls took the parts; they wore boots, 
long capes, and slouch hats, to represent the white men ; 
a few feathers, blankets, and moccasins made good 
Indian costumes. Anyway, mamma went to the Sacred 
Heart, near Montreal, and it was easy enough to get up 
the Indian parts there.” 

“Well, Betty, I think the play is the best idea yet,” 
said Jimmy, emphatically; “if your mother will only 
help us we can make a success of it, I know.” 

“I think so too,” agreed Frank, “even if I have to 
play the villain; I can borrow a fine costume from 
Miche anyway.” 

“Make out your cast, Betty, and let us see how 
many and what kind of parts there are,” said Elinor. 

“Just eight,” answered Betty. 

The Governor’s wife, that’s me, with powdered hair d 
la Martha Washington, patches, and a court train, my 
part is principally clothes, I don’t have much to say. 

“ Hard on you, Lady Betty, you’re best at talking,” 
murmured Frank, wickedly. 


THE CHRIST-CHILD'S MESSENGERS. 


ii 


“A lady’s maid and a careless nurse,” continued Betty, 
ignoring Frank’s remark; “they will do for you, Fanny 
and Ellen. Then dark-haired Elinor will be our star 
actress, the lovely Indian maid who rescues the stolen 
child.” 

Now for the boys. 

“ Dickey, of course, is the stolen child, Frank the vil- 
lain. Jimmy, you’re really too lively and full of pranks 
for the priest ; but you’ll have to reform and act the part 
because you’re tall and thin, and will make up fine.” 

“ Too lively! I like that, from you in particular, 
Betty, I mean to be a Jesuit anyway when I grow up, 
so there !” 

“ Ned, you’ll have to be the sheriff, or beadle or 
village watchman, or whatever they called the town 
policeman a hundred years ago. You call, ‘ Lost child, 
lost child.’ I am sure mamma will help us through, act 
as prompter and stage-manager, if necessary.” 

“ We’ll begin to-morrow and copy our parts, and have 
our first rehearsal at our house Saturday afternoon,” 
finished Betty, and all the rest agreed to this. 

Mrs. Stone readily agreed to aid the children in every 
possible way, and all the mothers thought the play an 
excellent idea. 

It would give the children amusement and employ- 
ment enough to keep them busy out of school-hours ; a 
difficult task often, for many amusements were not pos- 
sible in the small isolated frontier garrison; besides 
it would really give them enough money of their own 


12 


OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT; OR , 


earnings to make their Christmas gift a successful 
one. 

A busy four weeks of rehearsing, planning, and mak- 
ing costumes and scenery ensued, and at last the event- 
ful evening arrived. 

There was a very good little stage with some scen- 
ery, a drop curtain, and quartermaster footlights at one 
end of the “ Post Amusement Room." 

Mrs. Stone as stage-manager, with the boys as assist- 
ants, had done wonders with her stage setting. 

Two hundred and fifty tickets had been sold, and as 
the officers had insisted upon paying extra for reserved 
seats, though one seat was as good as another, Frank, 
as treasurer, had seventy-five dollars in his battered old 
pocketbook, which he had carefully locked in his 
father’s desk in the sitting-room ; not the safest place 
in the world to keep valuables, for the desk was old 
and rickety having traveled pretty well over the conti- 
nent, and it stood between the side windows which 
opened on the stage road where there was no sentry. 
But no one ever dreamed of burglars in an Army Post, 
fifty miles at least from any possible visits from tramps. 

So Frank went happily off to the little theater, not 
giving a single thought to his trust funds. 

Miche had loaned him a fine Sioux war costume, a 
war bonnet with eagles’ feathers, a beautiful bow and 
arrow, and was to assist him make up for his part of the 
Indian villain. 

The costume was, of course, historically not correct, 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 


*3 


for Massachusetts Indians probably dressed very differ- 
ently from their western Sioux brethren ; still there was 
no one to criticise. 

As Mrs. Stone surveyed her company of youthful 
actors and actresses, she felt very well satisfied with 
her efforts. 

Blushing, dimpled Betty made a very stately little 
Governor’s lady. 

Fanny and Ellen, in their neat maid-costumes of a 
hundred years ago, looked quaint and pretty. 

While Elinor made a lovely Indian maid, little Dick 
was as cunning as possible in his old-fashioned, long- 
tailed coat and queer cut trousers ; he couldn’t believe 
boys really wore such funny-looking clothes a hundred 
years ago. 

Jimmy made a very sedate-looking missionary; he 
had borrowed Pere Jolet’s best cassock and was capi- 
tally made up. The others in the cast were equally good. 

As the curtain was rung up, there was a low hum of 
admiration from the audience' Betty, as the Gover- 
nor’s wife, was discovered playing battledoor and shut- 
tlecock in the garden with her little son. 

Acts first and second passed off splendidly, the young 
people playing their parts with grace and spirit. 

In the last act, Frank had a dramatic scene with 
Elinor, in which he tries to kill the stolen child with his 
keen hunting-knife; at the last moment he discovered 
that he had forgotten his knife, which Mich£ had sup- 
plied with the balance of his costume. 


14 OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 

It was only a step to Captain Parker’s quarters, so 
Miche volunteered to run and get it. The orchestra 
played an extra piece, then another, and still Miche 
did not return. 

Then Mrs. Stone decided they must go on with the 
play, and Frank would have to shoot at the child 
instead of stabbing him. 

Frank was greatly disappointed, for he had counted a 
good deal on the fine effect his gorgeous hunting-knife 
would produce, still there was no help for it; but he 
wondered what could be keeping Miche. 

The play went smoothly on to the end. Just as the 
curtain was descending upon the final tableaux, three 
loud rifle shots rang out, and the sentry on number one 
at the guard-house was heard calling for the sergeant 
of the guard. 

Instantly the crowded hall was in confusion, some- 
thing serious had evidently happened, and everybody 
made a rush for the doors at the same time ; the officer 
of the guard succeeded in getting out and started on a 
run across the parade ground in the direction of Cap- 
tain Parker’s quarters, towards which the guard were 
running in response to loud calls for help! help! 

The boys were wildly excited, they dashed off the 
stage just as they were, and ran to the scene of the 
trouble. 

A glance showed Frank what was the matter; 
beneath the sitting-room window, with its contents 
scattered far and near on the frost-covered ground, 


THE CHRIST-CHILD'S MESSENGERS. 


15 


lay his old pocketbook, while four members of the 
guard were handcuffing a tall, powerfully built ruffian, 
who was swearing horribly. The post doctor was 
attending to poor Miche, who was bleeding profusely 
from a bad scalp wound, made by the very knife he 
had come in search of. 

Miche soon told his story; he had come upon the 
thief, a dishonorably discharged soldier of Captain 
Parker’s company, just as he was getting out of the 
window ; the two had struggled to gain possession of 
the pocketbook, but Mich6 had managed to give the 
alarm, and held on to his assailant until the sentry 
had come running up. In his violent anger at being 
caught, the man had snatched up the knife which was 
lying on a table near by, and made a savage lunge at 
the young half-breed. Fortunately he had not aimed 
well, and the cut was not a serious matter. 

It was a very exciting ending to their play, and 
gave the young people a topic of conversation the 
entire winter. 

Frank said he had quite enough of trust funds, and 
turned his money over to the quartermaster to be 
locked up in the safe. 


III. 


The young people after careful discussion with their 
elders decided to spend only twenty-five dollars out 


16 OLA F ’ S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 

of their earnings, the balance they would send the 
sisters, to be used as they thought best. 

With this money they sent off a big order to Sioux 
City, and when the huge box arrived, how the girls 
worked ! There were dolls to dress, little gowns and 
aprons to be made, pretty little work-baskets to fit up ; 
pretty ties and bright-colored ribbons to sort out 
and mark. 

Miche was to take the box on the day before 
Christmas; he had obtained permission to spend the 
holidays at his own home, which was near the agency. 
* * * * * * 

On the twentieth Miche’s hunting-party, planned 
early in the summer, left the post bright and early 
for a three days’ hunt. 

Mr. Howell, the second lieutenant of Captain Parker’s 
company, with a detail of ten men, was in charge of 
the party, but the three boys looked upon Miche as 
the real head. 

The young half-breed had been in earnest consulta- 
tion with his Indian friends and relatives for many 
days before they started, so he had the best and latest 
information as to where the ducks were thickest, and 
where an occasional bear prowled in search of food, 
and antelopes were almost certain to be had. 

Dickey and the girls got up at reveille to see the start. 

Miche drove his gray mules in the big, yellow 
Dougherty wagon, the foot of which contained a big 
hamper of provisions and extra wraps. 


THE CHRIST-CHILD'S MESSENGERS. 17 

Behind this came a big, blue escort wagon, with the 
ten men, the tents, rations, blankets, and other neces- 
saries for a camp. 

“Be sure and be back by the twenty- third,” called 
Betty; “remember, Mich£, you’re to take the box for 
us in time for Christmas, don’t get lost! ” 

Miche smiled gravely ; Indian like, he talked very little. 

“Good-by, good-by, and good luck!” called the 
girls, and the boys in the ambulance waved a farewell 
as they turned the corner by the adjutant’s office, and 
dashed off on the old stage road which lead out over 
the divide. 

* * * * * * 

For two days a furious blizzard had been blowing, 
the snow had drifted so that the lonely little “dug- 
out” of Jansen, the Norwegian settler, was almost 
covered. One window and the door they had managed 
to keep cleared, and a path which led to the rude 
shacks close by, wherein their precious stock was 
sheltered. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Jansen with his little son 
Olaf were talking in front of the glowing stove. 

“This is like a storm in the old country, Olaf. It 
would be hard work to go to the Midnight Mass, 
a night like this, and yet no man would miss it, but 
the women and children would not venture out.” 

“ Yes, my father, I would if only I were there; I can 
not remember much of my own country, my father,” 
replied the little lad wistfully. 


18 OLAF'S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 

“ Thou wert too young when we left, Olaf, and thou 
hast been blind so long, thou hast forgotten. Can’st 
thou recall thy dear mother, my son?” 

“Oh, yes, when I close my eyes tight.” 

The father smiled at the child’s fancy; were not the 
poor blind eyes always closed? 

“She smiles at me, she looks like the Mother Mary 
you have told me of, in the old church at home.” 

“ It is a sad and lonely life for a child,” murmured 
the father; but little Olaf heard it, for he answered 
cheerily : 

“Not so, while I have my friend for company,” 
touching, as he spoke, a quaint, very ancient-looking 
violin. 

“A poor Christmas for thee, my Olaf, not even one 
gift have I for thee save the Christmas cake, and that 
is made without plums.” 

“ Do not trouble, father mine, I am content; but if 
only the beautiful Christ-child would come and knock 
at our door this night, and say to me that I might have 
any one gift I chose, I know what I would say.” 

“If thou had’st just one gift, how would’st thou 
choose?” asked his father. 

“ Oh, quite easy, for I would ask for enough gold so 
that thou, my father, would’st not have to work so hard ; 
and thou, father, what gift would’st thou choose?” 

“ Light, my Olaf, light for thy poor darkened eyes,” 
catching the little lad to his heart. 

“ Well, my father, when I pray to-night, I shall ask of 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 


19 


our Christ-child these two gifts; and to-night, when we 
have our little feast, I will sing the Christ-child hymns 
and we will keep our Christmas so” 

“ Three o’clock!” suddenly spoke Jansen, “and 
nearly dark. I must attend to our dumb friends, my 
son,” and he proceeded to bundle up in a huge fur coat 
and light his lantern, for the darkness was growing 
deeper every moment. 

Pausing outside the door, Jansen swept the horizon 
with his quick, keen glance, then suddenly he uttered 
an exclamation. A big, black object, a half-mile down 
the canon, caught his eye. It moved slowly, then 
stopped, and though Jansen waited some time, it did 
move again. 

“ Something or somebody caught out in the storm! ” 
he exclaimed; “well, I must see to it;” and hastily 
explaining to Olaf, the sturdy Norwegian set out. 

* * * * * * 

A half-hour later the belated hunting-party were 
safely installed in the small “dugout,” “trying to 
thaw out a two days’ freeze,” as Frank expressed it. 

They were not exactly lost, an Indian never gets 
lost, but they had been forced to abandon the big 
escort wagon on account of the heavy drifts, and the 
entire party had to depend upon the plucky gray mules 
to get them home. Taking turns at riding and walking, 
they had struggled on somehow; but for several hours 
Mich6 had had hard work to urge his mules on, only 
his loving coaxing and urgingwould have accomplished 


20 


OLAF'S CHRISTMAS GIFT; OR , 


it, so that the little Jansen “dugout” seemed a very 
haven of refuge to the weary hunters. After an hour’s 
rest, during which they had refreshed themselves with 
quantities of hot coffee, they began to wonder if it were 
not possible to get home that night. Mich6 reported 
that they were not over ten miles from the post, and if 
Jansen would lend them his stout farm horses they 
would easily manage it. 

“ I had hoped that our Christmas guests would have 
spent the happy day with us,” exclaimed Olaf, shyly. 

“We can’t, Olaf,” explained the boys, “for our 
fathers and mothers are already, probably, terribly 
frightened about us.” 

“But, Olaf,” asked Jimmy, “why can’t you come 
with us and spend Christmas ? See, it has stopped 
snowing and the cold is not so great now. We’ll 
bundle you up carefully and take the best of care 
of you and your fiddle.” 

So it was arranged — to Jansen’s huge delight. 

* * * * * * 

The hunting party reached the post, just as the 
bugles were sounding tattoo, and the entire garrison 
turned out to welcome them, for they had indeed been 
very anxious. 

* * * * * * 

Such a merry, happy Christmas as they had ; the only 
drawback was the utter impossibility of getting the 
Christmas box to the agency. 

Little Olaf had never had so many presents in his 


THE CHRIST CHILD’S MESSENGERS. 


21 


whole life, good things were fairly showered upon him; 
but the best gift of all came in the evening at the beau- 
tiful Christmas tree at the Smith’s, where Dickey in- 
sisted upon sharing all his treasures with the little 
stranger. 

The two little lads were standing by the brilliantly 
lighted and decorated tree, Dickey describing its 
beauties to the blind child. 

The post surgeon, a gray-haired, kindly bachelor, the 
devoted friend of all the children, gazed keenly at 
Olaf’s sweet face, then stooping he picked the child up 
and sat him on his knee, asking a few abrupt questions, 
and examining with tender, deft touch the poor, blind 
eyes. 

In a moment he looked up. 

“The boy can be cured,” he said briefly. Olaf 
understood, with a rapturous cry of joy; the people 
around him entirely forgotten, he fell on his knees and 
seizing his violin poured out a hymn of thanksgiving; 
his way of praying. It was a touching sight and more 
than one eye was moist; Elinor saw a big tear roll down 
the Doctor’s cheek and splash down on his best blouse 
unheeded. 

The next day came a discussion of ways and means. 
Jansen had ridden in for the day, and was entirely 
overcome when he heard the good news. “I will sell 
all I have,” he declared, “ so that my boy may be 
cured.” 

It was Dickey who suggested using the money left 


22 


OLAF’S CHRISTMAS GIFT ; OR , 


from the play towards the hospital expenses, for Olaf 
would have to go east to a great specialist who was an 
old friend of the Doctor’s. The bachelor officers made 
up a generous purse, and Mr. Holt who was going to 
New York on leave in a week, volunteered to take the 
boy with him. 

The Christmas box for the Indian children reached 
the agency late the next day, and Elinor wrote the 
Sister Superior a detailed account of all these happen- 
ings ; of how they had meant to send the money for 
her little charges, and how and why they had changed 
their minds. 

When the sister read the part of Elinor’s letter tell- 
ing of little Olaf to her dusky charges, one of the older 
Indian girls stepped forward and replied softly: “We 
thank our white sisters for their good hearts, but we 
are glad that the money should give new eyes to the 
little white brother. May the Great Spirit and the 
Heavenly Mother give him eyes as bright as stars!” 

* * * * * * 

So Olaf went to the great doctor’s hospital, but it 
was many weary weeks before it was certain that the 
operation had been successful, but finally one day a 
telegram reached Fort Barry, telling the good news, 
and in half an hour, Mich6 was riding out to Jansen’s 
ranch to tell the lonely man of the happy news. 

* * * * * * 

All this happened quite a good many years ago. The 


THE CHRIST-CHILD' S MESSENGERS. 


23 


garrison at Fort Barry is entirely changed now, and a 
German family occupy Jansen's ranch. 

* * * * * * 

A year ago in Berlin, a new violinist made his debut, 
a tall, fair-haired youth with shining blue eyes. 
Amongst the audience were several intensely interested 
spectators. 

First a big blond giant, rugged and toil-worn in ap- 
pearance, who wept like a child at the beautiful music. 
“Olaf Jansen’s father,” some one whispered. The 
second was a group of Americans. “ Dickey, you’ll 
pound a hole in the floor,” laughed a pretty, golden- 
haired girl, whom the youth addressed as Betty. “And 
everyone is looking at us, Dick; do stop,” said a dark- 
eyed, beautiful girl, who sat with wrapt, entranced face, 
gazing at the young musician. 

“ Pooh ! Elinor, they are gazing at our American 
beauties. I mean to give Olaf a genuine American send- 
off, and if you girls don’t like it, just pretend I don’t 
belong to your crowd. Every one knows the United 
States Military Attache; Ned is staid enough for us 
all,” grinning at his brother, who had recently received 
this appointment, and which accounted for the presence 
of the Smith family in Berlin ; also, Betty who was to 
be Mrs. Lieutenant Smith before many months had 
passed. 

The young musician received a perfect ovation, but 
as soon as he could tear himself away, he was shaking 


24 


OLAF'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 


hands, half weeping and half laughing, with his old 
friends; the friends who had helped to give him his 
precious Christmas gifts that dreary Christmas Eve so 
many years ago. 

The Christ-child’s messengers, so Olaf had always 
called them ; for father and son had each received the 
gift he asked for. 


CHARLES O’MALLEY. 


A FRONTIER TRAGEDY. 


PART I. 

HE band was just marching across the parade 



1 ground for guard mounting, as four serious-look- 
ing boys assembled as if by previous arrangement, and 
seated themselves in comfortable attitudes on the big 
caissons that stood directly in front of the commanding 
officer’s quarters at Fort Barry. 

Jack Lyndon, the Colonel’s only son, by virtue of his 
age and rank, addressed the little group of eager listen- 
ers as follows: 

“Fellows,” he began impressively, “we have got to 
do something; not a boy in this garrison believes 
O’Malley guilty of the slightest dishonest act, much less 
what he is charged with, and there is hardly a soldier 
here that believes it either. Any one who knows 
O’Malley, knows he would die rather than do such a 
thing.” 


26 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


“ That’s so,” agreed Tim Larned, “and as my mother 
says, if he were dishonest it would have come out before 
this, as he was our mail-carrier for a year, and so has 
had lots and lots of chances to steal if he wanted to.” 

“Any one with half an eye can see that O’Malley’s a 
gentleman, and I don’t believe O'Malley’s his name at 
all,” said Joe Richards, not seeing that masquerading 
under an assumed name was somewhat incompatible 
with the idea of a gentleman. 

Jack frowned. “Well, Joe, don’t go blabbing that 
opinion around ; it won’t do O’Malley any good, and 
what makes you think so anyway?” 

“Well, you see, I got a peep at the inside of his 
watch one day, and what do you think I saw? One of 
those things— what do you call ’em?— crests. This one 
was a stag’s head, with a Latin motto and the initals B. 
D. engraved below. O’Malley was hot when he saw 
that I had seen it, he was mad I tell you ; gave me a 
regular lecture about its being ungentlemanly to pry 
into people’s private affairs. 

“Served you right, Joe,” said Jack Lyndon. “Your 
curiosity will get you into a big scrape yet. Only girls 
are curious,” with lofty contempt. 

“Now see here, Jack Lyndon, I didn’t mean to pry 
any more than you, and O’Malley saw I didn’t, too, and 
actually begged my pardon. So there ! ” 

“Oh, stop fussing; do, you fellows,” interrupted a 
quiet-looking boy, who had been a silent listener to the 
foregoing conversation. “I’ve thought of a plan.” 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


27 


“ Hear! hear! exclaimed all the boys, “ when the great 
and silent Tom speaks, we listen.” 

“O’Malley has stuck to us in all our scrapes, hasn’t 
he, boys?” 

“You bet,” was the hearty, boyish answer, and some 
of them were pretty bad ones, too. You remember last 
Fourth, when we fired the big cannon in the middle of 
the night and scared everybody half to death, and how 
awfully furious the Colonel was; it was O’Malley who 
kept us from being found out that time.” 

“Yes, yes,” chimed in the others, “and when we 
nearly blew up the Lyndon’s quarters with our chemical 
experiment last year, it was O’Malley who put out the 
flames and burned his hands fearfully, too, in doing it.” 

“And now,” and Tom Martin paused impressively, 
“ before I go any further, I want every fellow to swear 
that he will not tell my plan to a living soul, even if he 
won’t join in it.” 

“We swear!” the four exclaimed, eagerly. 

“Well, all right now,” said Tom; then lowering his 
voice he whispered rapidly: “ O’Malley is found guilty 
and we've got to help him to escape. I know the order 
came this morning, and will be read at dress parade to- 
night. The clerk in the adjutant’s office told me.” 

“They’ll probably keep O’Malley here until a batch 
of convicts come down from the South Dakota posts, so 
we’ll have plenty of time to work in.” 

“How will he ever escape from the guard-house?” 
queried Jack Lyndon. 


28 


CHARLES O’MALLEY. 


‘‘Are you all agreed to help in O’Malley’s escape?” 
asked Tom. “See here, Jack, perhaps you’d better 
draw out; you’re the commanding officer’s son, which 
makes it worse for you than for us, though goodness 
knows it will be bad enough for us if we’re found out.” 

“Draw out! well, I like that; I guess I won't” cried 
Jack, hotly. “What do you take me for? ” 

“All right, all right,” answered Tom, soothingly, 
“we’re all in it now for better, for worse, so here’s my 
plan.” 

“ Here are two files, so if they put him in irons he can 
easily file them and join the break with a bit of lead. 
O’Malley has two or three chums who have agreed to 
get these things to him. What we’ve got to do is to get 
a suit of ‘ cit’ clothes and give him enough money to 
buy a ticket to Omaha and decide on the best night for 
him to escape. How much can each of you raise ? 
I’ve got eleven dollars and thirty-five cents myself.” 

“I've got an even fourteen,” said Jack Lyndon. 

“I’ve only got seven,” answered Joe Richards, 
gloomily; “but I could borrow five from my sister; 
Molly’s awfully good about lending me.” 

“Do!” cried Tom, “if you want us to be found 
out sure. Don’t you dare borrow from any one.” 

“I’ve got ten dollars,” said Tim Larned, “and 
that will be plenty; I’ve been adding it up, and it all 
comes to forty-two dollars and thirty-five cents.” 

“Yes, that will be plenty,” agreed Tom, “and now 
I’ll have to go ; I’ve got to meet the west-bound ‘ Flyer,’ 


CHARLES 0 } MALLE Y. 


29 


we’re expecting a visitor to-day; Father Darrough 
from the Jesuit College in Omaha is going to give us 
Catholics a mission; he used to be stationed near here 
at the Rosebud Indian Agency, but was recalled on 
account of his health ; almost all of the regiment who 
were stationed here four years ago, knew him well. 
Father and mother think the world of him, indeed we 
all do. If anything important turns up, or if any one 
of us hears anything, whoever it is, can give our 
signal, and we’ll all meet here, as soon as possible. 
So long, there’s the stage for the train now,” and 
Tom was off, leaving the others to discuss over and 
over again the details of the plan of escape. 


PART II. 

Father Darrough walked slowly across the hot, 
dusty parade; he was just returning from baptizing 
Sergeant M'Ginnis’ baby, who, poor little innocent, 
had only drawn the breath of life to lose it. The 
priest’s fine face, always sad in repose, wore an unusual 
touch of gravity. 

The mystery of life and death was ever new and 
awful to him. His heart was ever tender towards the 
sins and sorrows of the people. 

He made their troubles his own, his heart ached now 
for poor Mary M’Ginnis. She was only a young bit of 
a thing, and not able to bear her first great sorrow with 


30 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


that pathetic grief of the older women, whom long years 
of poverty and pain have taught patience. 

* * * * * * 

From one end of the parade where stood the one- 
storied adobe guard-house, with its grim iron-barred 
windows, and armed sentry pacing slowly to and fro, 
two men started, a gray-haired guard and his prisoner, 
a mere youth in appearance. 

The erect soldierly carriage proclaimed the younger 
man’s calling, but an air of sullen, haughty indifference 
sat strangely upon the handsome, well-bred features of 
the boy. 

The coarse, brown “fatigue uniform” seemed oddly 
out of place upon one whose mien was more that of 
a conquered but rebellious prince, than an army convict 
“doing time” in the guard-house. 

* * * * * * 

The two principal actors in the tragedy approached 
each other unconsciously, the priest still absorbed in 
pitying thoughts of a young mother’s grief for her 
first-born ; the convict so filled with passionate resent- 
ment at his fate, as to be oblivious to all outside his 
own bitter thoughts; behind walked the sentry stolid 
and unseeing. 

Suddenly, when within a few feet of each other, as if 
in obedience to a sudden and irresistible impulse, the 
eyes of these two met, priest and convict. 

With an unmistakable cry of shame and horror, the 
convict cried out, as he started back : 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


3i 


“ Connor, Connor , for God’s sake what has brought 
you here?” then without waiting to hear the reply, 
with an agony of entreaty in his shaken voice, he 
turned to the sentry, whispering rapidly and fiercely : 
“Man, if you’ve a heart in you, leave us alone for a 
few moments.” 

Discipline made the guard hesitate, but the priest’s 
presence was a guarantee that no harm would come of 
it; he saw, too, that something strange had happened. 

“Pshaw, Conway, why hesitate over a small favor to 
an old ‘bunkie.’ * I can’t escape in broad daylight and 
if I were mad enough to try it, why (with a significant 
gesture towards the man’s rifle), there is not a better 
shot in the regiment. I won’t try it, I give you my 
word of honor, the honor of a convict,” this, with a bit- 
ter laugh, sad to hear in one so young. . . . 

The strong, clear-cut features of the priest seemed all 
at once to have aged. “Sentry,” he called, but his 
voice was faint with overpowering emotion ; the man 
did not hear him and moved off slowly. 

“ Sentry,” he called again, the man heard and turned 
to answer. 

“In God’s name, tell me what crime this man is ac- 
cused of?” Conway looked inquiringly at the young 
convict; he had too much soldierly “esprit de corps” 
to give his friend away, even to the priest. 

“Yes, yes, perhaps it is better; tell him,” was the 
impatient reply to the unspoken inquiry. 

* Soldier chum. 


32 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


“ Sergeant Charles O’Malley, under arrest on a charge 
of forgery,” replied the sentry formally ; then he turned 
quickly away, so as not to see the shame and grief on 
his priest’s face. 

“Charles O’Malley,” echoed the convict, doggedly; 
but the sullen air of indifference was gone; he was 
white to the lips and trembling. “Charles O’Malley,” 
murmured the priest, vacantly. 

What a flood of tender recollections the rollicking 
Irish name recalled to this grave austere man of God. 

The bare, dusty parade ground, the shame-stricken, 
cowering figure before him faded away; he was young 
again, he stood with his beautiful, stately mother 
beneath the grand old oaks of his ancestral home. 

He had just confided to that dear mother the earn- 
est wish of his heart, to serve God in the priesthood; 
resigning his rights as eldest son to his young 
brother. 

“You have my consent and blessing, Connor,” he 
heard the gentle voice saying, “you have chosen the 
better part, and my little Brian will grace our proud 
old name. 

As if it were yesterday, he recalled the sudden soften- 
ing of his mother’s somewhat haughty features, as she 
gazed with loving admiration at the beautiful, brilliant 
boy who was approaching them on his spirited pony, 
calling to them to admire his prowess in the saddle, as 
with a ringing laugh he cleared the high, barred gate 
at the end of the avenue. 


CHARLES O'MALLEY . 


33 


I am Charles O’Malley to-day, Connor,” the merry 
young voice had called out. How it rang out through 
all these years. 

To enact the character of his favorite hero had been 
Brian’s great delight. 

The scene shifted, but the figures of those two, so 
dear to him, stood out so clearly. 

The June sun shone through the stained windows of 
the old abbey chapel. 

A young priest was celebrating his first mass. 

With what a touch of divine happiness had he 
turned to give the Bread of Life to these two. Ah, 
God was good, and life a beautiful, sacred thing. 

Again the scene changed — but now the dear mother 
was worn with tears and anxiety. The boy’s face, 
strangely beautiful still, was there, too, but the look of 
youthful innocence and purity had fled. 

The beauty was like a baleful mask, so Lucifer must 
have appeared when sin first tarnished his heaven-born 
beauty. 

“I am still Charles O’Malley, Connor, and going to 
the devil as merrily as he did,” the reckless young 
voice cried out over the long silence of years. 

The last scene of all, the shame and disgrace of the 
youthful heir, the hurried midnight flight and final 
escape to America; the death of the desolate, heart- 
broken mother, and ever since that the weary, weary 
search for the lost sheep. 

The bitterness of death was in the past, and yet it 


34 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


was the brother, not the priest, who spoke in that 
yearning cry of 

“Brian, my brother; oh, my brother! ” 

There was no hint of reproach in the cry, only love, 
pity, and forgiveness. 

“ Connor, hear me, I swear to you I am innocent. 
For four years I have served in this army, I won my 
sergeant’s chevrons, and a medal of honor for personal 
bravery in action, during the Rosebud Indian fight. 

“I have hoarded up every penny of my scanty pit- 
tance, to replace the sum I took, so that I could return 
with clean hands to my mother and you. 

“Now, listen, how that merciful God you preach of 
has rewarded my bitter repentance, my efforts to do 
right. 

“Next month I would have been honorably dis- 
charged. 

“ Two weeks ago, an officer’s name, here in the 
garrison, was forged for a large amount, the crime 
was brought home to me, through the evidence of one 
who for three years has been as near and dear to me 
as a brother.” 

“You see, God has not forgiven the sin of my youth, 
so why should you? 

“I will not compromise your Reverence by pro- 
claiming the relationship of the saint and the sinner. 

I am Charles O'Malley here. Brian Darrough died 
years ago.” 

The young soldier had poured forth his story with 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


35 


bitter vehemence, but it seemed to fall on unheeding 
ears. After that first yearning cry of love and pity, 
the priest had stood as if turned to stone. 

Suddenly, with a moan of horror and indignation, he 
had fallen on his knees, and with the trembling, uncer- 
tain fingers of old age had begun to fumble with the 
fetters that so basely bound the child of his love. 

* * * * * * 

“ Sentry, what is this prisoner doing here ? ” 

It was the officer of the day, who spoke in a tone of 
sharp reprimand, but even as he did so the prisoner, 
pulling his gray slouch hat down over his face, moved 
off at a slow, halting gait, each clank of the irons bruis- 
ing the heart of the brother and priest. 

The sentry thus recalled to his duty called out, 
“ Come now, move on, O’Malley, don’t be a whole day 
a-gettin’ acrost de parade.” 

sfc * * * * * 

The shouts of the tennis players, eager and excited, 
came floating over the still air. 

“Thirty, love,” cried a clear, girlish voice gleefully. 
“Oh, dear, what a serve, you sent that ball nearly 
to the guard-house.” “Oh, sentry, sentry, please 
send me that ball.” With quick impulse, the prisoner 
turned to stop the ball, forgetting the irons which 
fettered him ; he stumbled awkwardly, and came down 
heavily on one knee, but he managed to reach the ball 
just as the young girl, panting and laughing from her 
quick run, stopped at his side. 


36 


CHARLES O’MALLEY. 


“Oh, thank you,” said the gay, sweet voice; then, for 
the first time recognizing the prisoner, the young girl’s 
face flushed, she came a step nearer to the convict, 
who stood sullen and silent; then she, the “Colonel’s 
daughter,” forgetful of all else, save the look of 
despairing misery in the young face before her, 
exclaimed eagerly and with girlish sincerity: “Oh! 
Sergeant O’Malley, I am so sorry to see you 
there,” with a faint gesture towards the guard house. 
“But I for one don’t believe you’re guilty, and 
none of the boys do, either.” A curious, unconven- 
tional thing for the girl to do; but then the Colonel’s 
daughter was always doing unconventional things, 
so the feminine critics of the regiment said. Her 
little sympathetic speech caused the hard look to 
vanish and a gentle, half smile stole over the young 
prisoner’s face. 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ * * 

“ Father Darrough, you are ill; this sun has been too 
much for you,” exclaimed the young officer of the 
day; “ here, take my arm, sir, and allow me to help 
you to my quarters.” 

The priest leaned heavily on the strong, young arm. 

“I saw you talking with young O’Malley,” rattled on 
the young officer; “queer case that; the fellow is evi- 
dently a gentleman, has had a fine record until he got 
into this scrape; gambling, I’m afraid, has worked the 
mischief with him.” 

“He’s sworn to kill the man that betrayed him, and 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


37 


he has made two attempts at the risk of his life to get 
away, so we had to put him in irons.” 

“ Queer case, don’t you think, Father?” But with a 
low moan the priest had fallen heavily to the [ground. 


PART III. 

The night was black and sullen, heavy storm clouds 
hung in low, muttering masses over the prairie. 

The very air seemed thick and difficult to breathe; the 
sentinel on number one shifted his piece uneasily and 
mechanically crossed himself; suddenly an unusually 
vivid flash of lightning showed to his sleepy eyes a 
fine streak of flame running up the walls of “F” Com- 
pany barracks. Instantly the report of his rifle rang, 
arousing the slumbering garrison, and almost instantly 
the company buglers, barely awake, were blowing 
‘‘Fire Call” furiously. 

The response was immediate, the discipline perfect, 
the fire companies had formed almost without com- 
mands, and taking up the double time, were soon at 
work extinguishing the fire. With the old-fashioned 
hand engine and the not over generous supply of fire 
buckets, they made very little headway, and the flames 
soon enveloped the entire barracks. 

Fifty human beings slept in the upper story of the 


38 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


burning building; bewildered by the flames and smoke 
they rushed madly about. 

With ringing shouts of encouragement their com- 
rades worked heroically to get them out in safety. The 
prisoners had been turned out to take their turn at the 
fire buckets; they were in charge of only one sentinel, 
and he had lost his head during the excitement, and 
stood with his back to the line of prisoners. 

“ My chance has come at last,” thought O’Malley. He 
was trembling under the strain of powerful emotion. 

With a quick, noiseless wrench of his athletic young 
frame he burst his irons ; they had been filed through 
and carefully filled in with lead for two days now, 
waiting for just some such happy chance as this. 

Just then four scantily clad boys came rushing to 
the fire, and as Tom drew near the little line of prison- 
ers, he handed O’Malley a full bucket, taking the 
empty one himself, and whispered excitingly: “Now, 
O’Malley, is your chance; everything is ready, follow 

_ _ ft 

me. 

Just then a hand was laid softly on O’Malley's 
shoulder. 

“God bless thee, lad, my little lad. Do your duty 
bravely, and have no fear. I will save you, Brian.” 

“Some one will hear you, Connor,” cried the boy 
roughly, trying to hide his emotion by an assumed 
hardness of manner, but his voice was very tender as 
he spoke. 

“To-morrow, lad, the whole world shall know, for 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


39 


have I not found my sheep that was lost,” murmured 
Father Darrough, softly. 

The prisoner next in line stared in puzzled amazement 
at this tender greeting between the priest and prisoner, 
then in the mad excitement of the moment forgot them. 

“ I’ll wait till Connor turns the corner,” muttered 
the convict doggedly, “then,” he drew his breath 
sharply, “ it will go hard with me if I don’t get away 
this time. I swear they shan’t take me alive.” 

“Call the roll, sergeant,” ordered the Captain of 
“F” Co., as the last, dazed, smoke-begrimed figure 
was assisted out of the burning building. Rapidly the 
sergeant rattled off the familiar names ; quickly, but 
feebly, the response came, “Here,” “here,” when 
suddenly the sergeant paused, then cried out wildly: 
“Harvey ! has any one seen Harvey ?” He slept by 
himself in the orderly room. 

A human being in those seething flames ! A groan 
of horror went up from the crowd. 

It was useless to think of rescue ; even now the walls 
were tottering and ready to fall. 

Suddenly, a tall, slight figure darted forward, and 
before the shuddering, panic-stricken groups could 
divine his purpose had disappeared in the burning 
death-trap. “ It's O’Malley,” some one whispered, 
the whisper grew into a shout, a hoarse roar of mad 
enthusiasm for the prisoner, who was risking his life 
for the false friend who had betrayed him. 

With an anguished cry of love and terror, Father 


40 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


Darrough started to follow, but a hundred eager hands 
restrained him, even as the priest struggled to free 
himself; the prisoner, carrying a silent, helpless figure, 
staggeredto an open window; exhausted, he paused an 
instant, framed in a mass of seething flames. 

“Let him drop, O’Malley, we’ll catch him,” shouted 
a hundred voices, and Harvey was soon safe. “ Jump, 
jump, O’Malley, quick, the walls are falling,” they 
cried, and heedless of danger they rushed close to the 
crumbling walls. 

The prisoner hesitated, he seemed dazed. “Come, 
lad, come, Brian, jump;” it was Father Darrough’s 
voice. “ Coming, Connor.” Was it O’Malley who spoke? 

But even as the answer came, the walls gave way, 
and with a sickening crash fell outwards. . . . 

“ O’Malley,” it was the kindly, white-haired Colonel 
who spoke, “Harvey is dying, he has confessed that 
he was the forger; he say’s he can’t die in peace unless 
you will forgive him. Can you pardon the terrible wrong 
he has done you? 

“Yes, as I hope for forgiveness,” whispered the white 
lips, faintly. 

“Come, my boy, brace up, you must get well, the 
regiment can’t spare so good a soldier;” the Colonel’s 
kindly voice broke a little here, he had a soldier lad of 
his own serving far away from his home. 

The dying boy smiled faintly, then said softly, “Con- 
nor, you gave me my first Communion ; give me my last.” 

Slowly and haltingly the story of the wasted young 


1 


Charles O'Malley. 4 i 

life was told, when the words of the absolution were 
pronounced, a look of infinite peace stole over the lad’s 
face; the early morning sun shone brightly in, touching 
up the big, bare hospital ward with a golden glory, and 
resting on the dark brown curls, like a halo of pardon 
and benediction. 

The Colonel and the senior post surgeon knelt rev- 
erently as the priest approached to give the “Viati- 
cum” to the dying soldier — the Life of the world, that 
death might be easier. 

He spoke only once again, so low that the priest had 
to place his ear against the trembling lips to catch his 
words. 

“Tell — the — boys, this — is best, — I have escaped.” 

“It is good to die in peace, Connor. My Jesus, 
mere ” 

And Charles O’Malley’s story was ended. 






THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


OR 


Quarters No. io. 


chapter i. 


UNWELCOME NEWS. 


HE first call for guard-mounting was just sounding 



1 as the spruce young mail-orderly thrust a package 
of letters and newspapers into the huge mail-box that 
adorned the front door of Captain Little’s quarters: 
“ No. io” they were designated on the post roster. 

Instantly a wild shout from within was heard, and 
the daily lively scramble for the mail ensued, each of 
the five sturdy boys of the household bent upon obtain- 
ing possession. 

This was a daily occurrence, and it did not at all dis- 
turb the serenity of the pretty, youthful-looking lady 
who presided over the coffee-pot. 

“ Little Mother,” as her five lads lovingly called 
her, was quite used to the inevitable noise made by 
five healthy, fun-loving boys. 


44 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


“ Anything for me, Tom ? ” she called. 

“Where’s my morning paper, Thomas, lad?” de- 
manded Captain Little. 

“ Here you are, sir — a whole column of army news 
too,” responded that young gentleman, handing over 
the paper; then turning to his mother and handing her 
a large, square envelope with a tiny crest of scarlet 
and gold on it, he asked eagerly : 

“ Who is your swell correspondent, mother ? ” 

The younger boys were already absorbed in their 
bowls of oat-meal and cream, but paused long enough 
to hear the reply: 

“It is from Uncle John, and if you will all excuse 
me, I will just skim it over and see what he has to say.” 

The skimming process did not take long, and as 
Mrs. Little hurriedly read to the end she exclaimed, 
“Well!” so excitedly that even the captain was 
aroused from his beloved paper. 

“Eh, what! what is it, Mary?” he exclaimed 
vaguely. 

“Why, John writes that he is utterly broken down — 
nervous prostration — and has been ordered by his phy- 
sicians to take a six months’ absolute rest. He wishes 
to sail on the twentieth and asks us as a great favor to 
take charge of Annette during his absence. ” 

“Poor John! he has never gotten over his wife's 
death. A complete change will do him all the good in 
the world. Write at once, Mary, and tell him how 
sorry we are to hear of his ill health ; tell him we will 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 45 

take the best of care of the little girl. With five boys 
she is not likely to mope much.” 

“Of course we must take the little girl. Annette is 
a little girl in years — not yet fifteen — but, poor child, 
she is quite a fine grown-up young lady in her own esti- 
mation. She has been three years now at a fashionable 
New York boarding-school, has her own French maid, 
and altogether I am afraid I shall feel as if I had a 
small white elephant on my hands,” said Mrs. Little, 
ruefully. 

“Nonsense, my dear!” replied the captain gal- 
lantly, “ as if your niece could be otherwise than charm- 
ing. Besides, I’ve never seen a child yet but thought 
garrison life the best kind of fun. With a pony to 
ride, tennis, and five gallant cousins to escort her 
around, what more could a girl want ? She was a 
pretty, sweet child the last time I saw her, and a few 
years even at a fashionable boarding-school can’t have 
entirely spoiled her.” 

“ I hope not; but I saw Annette just a year ago, and 
with her ‘ tailor ’ gowns and hair dressed by the French 
maid she was quite an imposing personage,” answered 
Mrs. Little, smiling. 

“ If she’s stuck up and won’t play ‘one old cat,’ I 
shan’t ’scort her,” asserted Teddy, the youngest of the 
five. While Mac and Brian, the twins, had scornfully 
elevated their small noses at the thought of a girl 
coming into the family to spoil everything. 

Will’s face was noncommittal ; if Annette would help 


46 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


him with his “specimens” — and girls were good at 
that son of thing — he shouldn’t mind her coming so 
much. 

Even sixteen-year old Tom — “the greatest ladies’ 
man in all the clan,” his mother often declared — had 
not looked over pleased at the thought of the new 
inmate. He had just returned from college, and it was 
hard on a fellow to have his vacation spoiled by a 
“stuck-up chit of a girl,” for so Tom mentally charac- 
terized the unknown cousin. 

Captain Little laughed at the small tempest his 
wife’s comments had raised. 

“Boys, boys! wait and judge for yourselves. Re- 
member, lads, Annette has no ‘ Little Mother ’ now to 
set her straight. Be your own kindly, honest selves, 
and the little cousin will love you all.” 

This was at once a reminder and an appeal, and 
touched the lads in the right spot. Tom smiled and 
answered heartily, “We will, sir,” while Teddy ceased 
to scowl and remarked that girls could make dandy 
sails, and his boat needed a new set. 

As soon as breakfast was over Tom followed his 
mother to the “den,” as the cozy, pretty sitting-room 
was called. 

Here the captain smoked unmolested; the boys 
studied and played; Teddy's boats, a whole fleet of 
them, occupied an entire shelf in the big quarter- 
master’s bookcase, whose curtained doors concealed 
all sorts of boyish treasures within its spacious depths. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


47 


Will’s specimens were allowed to remain^ undisturbed 
and undusted — though I am afraid this may horrify 
some orderly souls. The bats and balls of the twins 
occupied their own especial space; while Tom had a 
whole shelf to himself for his “rackets ” — one a regular 
beauty he had won at the championship game at college 
— and his football outfit. The big ball itself was kept 
carefully in an empty tin cake-box, donated by Nora 
the cook. 

Tom’s great though secret ambition was to play 
“half back” in the college team, and in order to 
deserve this future honor, he practised faithfully an 
hour or so every day. But it was neither tennis nor 
football that occupied his mind just at that moment. 
He bad been fighting a small battle with himself, and 
had come to complete the victory. 

“Well, dear old man, what can I do for you?” said 
Mrs. Little, who called her boys all sorts of odd pet 
names; she was deep in her housekeeping books, and 
d^d not even look up. 

“I have come to say, mother, that Annette may 
have my room. I’ll turn in with Will. But I shall 
make him understand that he is not to keep live snakes, 
lizards, and bugs while I have to room with him.” 

“Tom, dear, I am very grateful to you for offering 
to give up your pleasant room of your own free will. 
It seems too bad to turn you out; but do the best I 
can, I am afraid Annette will find it anything but 
luxurious after her own beautiful home.* 


48 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


“ Once I get my duds out, you will rig it up ship- 
shape and pretty I know. Girls would far rather have 
things pretty than comfortable any day,’* answered 
Tom, with lofty masculine contempt of feminine frip- 
peries. 

Mrs. Little laughed, but answered: “Yes, dear, we 
must try and make it as pretty as possible; so just 
run over to the company and ask the first sergeant to 
send the carpenter over here.” 

“There is one thing,” said Mrs. Little decidedly, as 
Tom dashed off to do her bidding — “ I shall write John 
that I simply cannot take care of the French maid. 
The Harveys will return from their leave about the 
twentieth, and they will be only too glad to bring 
Annette with them. And now, as my boys would say, 
I must ‘hustle,’ and out of my odds and ends contrive 
as pretty and dainty a room as possible for the little 
heiress — who, poor child ! is after all only a motherless 
little girl. If only she had not been with Madam 
Blanck these years!” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ARRIVAL. 

The boys had been up since “reveille”; though, 
as the “Flyer” was not due until eight o’clock, they 
might as well have had their usual morning naps. 


OR , QUARTERS NO. 10. 


49 


At last the rattle of the ambulance * was heard as it 
turned the corner by the adjutant’s office and, with its 
four mules, came dashing down the line in front of the 
“Officers’ Row.” 

As it pulled up in front of the Littles’ quarters not a 
boy was to be seen; only Mrs. Little came running 
down the walk to greet the weary little traveller, who 
won her kind aunt’s heart at once by throwing her 
arms around her neck and sobbing out, “Oh! dear 
Aunt Mary, I am so glad to see you. I miss mamma 
more and more every day; and I am so tired.” 

“Not spoiled yet,” was Mrs. Little’s secret thought 
as she clasped the tired child in her loving arms; while 
Captain Little, to hide his emotion, began calling loudly: 
“Here you boys, where are you all? Tom, Will, your 
cousin has arrived.” 

Teddy was the first to appear. “ How do you do?” 
he said sedately, extending his little hand formally; 
then, seeing signs of the recent tears, he added con- 
descendingly, “You may kiss me this time, but I’se not 
’ticularly fond of it.” 

This broke the ice at once, and by the time breakfast 
was announced the six cousins were chatting merrily. 

As Delia was bringing in the last plate of crisp 
brown waffles the buglers commenced sounding the 
“ assembly.” 

“Oh! what’s that, Uncle Fritz?” cried Annette 
eagerly ; “ what are they going to do? ” 


* The army name for a covered spring wagon. 


50 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


“Come and see,” answered Tom. 

“Wait until I get my hat and I will.” 

“Oh! never mind your hat; the parade is so shady 
you won’t need it; you’re far too pale anyway. A 
little sunburn will improve you,” replied Master Tom. 

“Well really, Tom, you are very frank,” said the 
girl, not knowing whether to be vexed or amused. 

“Most boys are s ” retorted that young gentleman 
composedly. 

As they took their seats on a bench in front of the 
commanding officer’s quarters, the regimental band 
struck up a lively air, and groups or squads of soldiers, 
in full dress, stood ready to march out from the differ- 
ent companies to the center of the parade ground, 
where the new guard was mounted each day. 

“Oh! there’s uncle. What does he have to do, 
Tom, with his best clothes on and his sword, too?” 

“Father’s the new officer of the day. He is going 
to march on — that means he is on duty to-day as 
commander of the guard, or sentinels, who keep watch 
over the post. That young officer over there is 
Lieutenant Davis, the ‘ old officer of the day ' ; he 
marches off this morning. The call you just heard 
was ‘assembly,’ and the men, as you see, have ‘fallen 
in’ in front of their companies.” 

“Oh, dear! it sounds very puzzling, but very fasci- 
nating too,” said Annette. 

“You’ll soon catch on, after you have been here a 
week or two; I’ll promise to answer all your questions.” 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


5i 


“ Begin right now then, and explain what is going on 
now,” demanded Annette. 

“ That’s adjutant’s call now, that the bugler is sound- 
ing; and now the band is playing for the guard details 
to march. See, there they come and form into line, 
right by the flag staff,” said Tom good-naturedly. 

“What a pretty ceremony it Is, Tom. I should 
never tire of looking at it,” Annette said. 

“ I never do. There is one other ceremony, though, 
that is quite as pretty, called the * escort of color ’ ; we 
shall probably have it to-night at dress parade. I will 
read up ‘ tactics ’ in the meantime so as to answer cor- 
rectly all the questions you’re sure to ask.” 

“Who is that officer who seems to do so much boss- 
ing? Why he is actually ordering uncle around. There ! 
look, Tom. What on earth is he doing now?” 

Inspecting the men to see if they are clean, and 
their equipments in good order,” said Tom. 

“How horrid of him! How would he like it, I won- 
der, to be poked around in that fashion? ” cried Annette. 

“Well, Annette, you will have to excuse him; he is 
adjutant, and in doing what you object to he is only 
obeying his orders. See now, he is picking out an 
orderly for the commanding officer,” replied Tom, much 
amused. “He’ll have hard work to choose one, too, 
for ‘Shorty’ and Dooley always ‘buck’ for orderly. 
‘Buck’ is the soldier word for ‘try hard,’ or ‘do your 
best.’ He can’t decide which to give it to ; they’ll have 
to draw straws for it. 


52 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


“ Now the band is going to sound off — that is, it 
marches up and down the line of the guard playing its 
prettiest music.” 

“But, Tom, what is an orderly?” asked Annette. 

“Well, the cleanest man on guard is picked out for 
orderly duty. He follows the colonel around all day, 
runs messages and sometimes waits on the colonel’s wife,” 
he replied. 

“I can’t see any great advantage in being orderly,” 
said Annette thoughtfully. 

“There is one, though; the orderly doesn’t have to 
walk post,” explained the boy; but as Annette only 
looked puzzled over his explanation, he added: “The 
orderly can go to his barracks and sleep all night ; he is 
excused from all sentry duty.” 

“I understand that better,” began Annette, when 
they were interrupted by the twins, who came rushing 
up to say that every child in the post was waiting to be 
introduced to the new cousin. 

“Where are they all?” demanded Tom of his small 
brothers. 

“Over on the big tennis court,” answered the twins 
in one breath — their usual mode of speaking. 

“Well, come on; we may as well have it over,” said 
Tom, as if he were talking of some painful operation. 

“Must I, Tom? Are there many of them? Are they 
nice?” cried Annette. 

“Which shall I answer first? Yes, miss, there are lots 
of them ” — with an airy wave of his hand, which might 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


53 


mean a hundred or more — “and you must meet them 
all ; and they are all nice, with one or two exceptions. 
So come on; I'll see you safe through it. Are you 
pretty fair at tennis?” 

“Fair to middling,” laughed Annette pleasantly. 

“ Very well, then; we will have time for a set or two 
before it gets too hot. The boys all play a good game, 
and some of the girls, too, fairly well.” 

Annette said nothing, but resolved privately to show 
this patronizing cousin of hers that she knew a thing or 
two about tennis. She was anxious now to find out 
Tom's likes and dislikes amongst his playmates, for 
already she felt as if they would agree on most 
matters. 

She began confidentially : “ Tell me who I am to like, 
Tom, and whom to dislike?” 

“No indeed; that would not be fair at all. You 
must judge for yourself.” 

“Who is that sweet-looking girl with the pretty 
brown hair and lovely gray eyes?” 

“That’s Elinor Deane, and she’s as nice as she is 
pretty,” Tom had just time to whisper as they ap- 
proached the group of boys and girls lounging on the 
soft green grass under the big shady cottonwoods. 

“This is my cousin, boys and girls — Annette Harold. 
I hope you’ll all like each other and that we’ll have lots 
of jolly times together this vacation.” 

Such was Tom’s bluff, boyish introduction; but it 
answered the purpose very well, and presently the 


54 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


children were talking as unrestrainedly as though they 
had been old friends. 

Some one proposed tennis; but just then three shrill 
whistles were heard, followed by a short one. Tom 
jumped to his feet, saying: “Come, Annette, that is 
our call ; we are wanted at home.” 

Mrs. Little was waiting for them on the shady porch. 

“Annette must certainly rest this morning. The 
very idea of tennis after a four days’ journey ! Come, 
dear, settle yourself comfortably in the big hammock, 
and Teddy shall come and amuse you. I want my ‘ dear 
old man ’ to go to market for me. I won’t bribe you, 
Tom, but there shall be a big pitcherful of lemonade 
for thirsty souls in about half an hour.” 

“ I’ll be here,” called Tom as he dashed off to sad- 
dle up, while Annette found the hammock so comfort- 
able she dropped off into a most refreshing slumber 
much to Teddy’s disgust. 

First call for “ dress parade” found the two cousins 
seated on the muzzle of the big cannon which stood in 
front of the colonel’s quarters purely for ornament. It 
was a favorite seat with the youthful members of the 
garrison, though why it was would have been hard to 
decide. 

The city girl was charmed with the brilliancy and 
novelty of the whole scene. 

Officers in full dress hurried across the parade, pull- 
ing on their white gloves as they went. Sergeants in 
front of the different companies were calling the roll, 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


55 


and having the men count off in sets of four. The 
band was giving little preliminary toots over in front 
of their barracks. 

The dashing young adjutant and the stately old 
colonel, in their gold lace and white plumes, Nan 
thought simply fascinating. 

“We are very proud of our ‘Colors,* Nan,” ex- 
plained Tom, “and we have a right to be — our regi- 
ment is entitled to have twelve battles engraved upon 
the silver rings on the flagstaff, for it won distinction 
on the field at Bull Run, Antietam, Gettysburg, and 
nine others.’* 

There was a slight tremor in Tom’s voice ; he was 
very proud of the dear old 31st, in which he was born 
and had grown up. 

“The colors are kept at the colonel’s house,” con- 
tinued the boy to his absorbed auditor. “See, the color 
escort is going after them now.” 

It was sl pretty sight, and one the girl never forgot. 
The long, dark line of troops, waiting motionless until 
the regimental and national colors should be escorted 
with due ceremony to the ‘ color company ’ designated 
to receive them. 

The escort, without any music, marched to the 
colonel’s quarters, and halted in front of the house. 
The color-bearer, preceded by his first lieutenant and 
followed by a sergeant, went inside for the flags. As 
they came out carrying the beautiful flags they halted, 
and the escort presented arms. 


56 


THE LIVEL V LITTLES; 


It made Nan’s heart thrill with patriotic emotion to 
see the military honors paid to our “Star-spangled 
Banner.” She had never imagined anything like it. 

The buglers sounded a queer, lively call, known in 
“Tactics” as “to the Color,” a musical military 
salute. Then the band struck up a lively air, and so 
the colors were duly escorted to the place in the 
“line.” After parade was over, with equal ceremony 
they were returned to the commanding officer’s quar- 
ters for safe-keeping. 

“It is all perfectly lovely, Tom,” exclaimed An- 
nette, with a little sigh of delight. “I didn’t know we had 
anything so sort of romantic and patriotic ; I can’t exact- 
ly explain what I mean, but you understand, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I guess I do,” laughed Tom. “ That is what 
this small army is for, Annette ; to keep a little patri- 
otic sentiment agoing in this prosaic, money-grubbing 
country of ours.” 

“Well, I think it needs it,” Annette declared. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SPOILED CHILD 

Annette had found her first day’s experience of army 
life very pleasant but fatiguing, so when Mrs. Little 
announced bed-time, at nine o’clock, she was quite 
ready to follow her aunt to her pretty rooms upstairs. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


57 


Teddy had been in bed an hour; but she noticed 
the other four boys followed Mrs. Little to her room, 
and presently a low, steady murmur of voices greeted 
her ears. 

“ I wonder what they are doing,” she thought. “ I 
think I shall just have to peep;” so she tip-toed down 
the hall, and paused opposite the open door of Mrs. 
Little’s room. There, down on her knees before a 
very pretty oratory, was the “little mother” with her 
four lads grouped around her, and they were saying 
the beads. 

Annette slipped in quietly, but made no response 
until Mrs. Little finished with the “Glory be to the 
Father,” and ended up with the “ Creed.” 

“ How nice that you say family prayers, auntie ! May 
I join you every evening? But where is Uncle Fritz ? ” 

“He is, like you, dear child, not a Catholic,” began 
her aunt, a bit sadly; but the girl interrupted her. 

“Oh! but I am a Catholic, Aunt Mary; only not a 
Romanist.” 

She had learned this at the fashionable High-Church 
boarding-school. Mrs. Little smiled, but said nothing. 

“ Of course, Aunt Mary, I cannot join in the worship 
of the Virgin and saints, but otherwise I will be glad 
to join in your services while I am here. It seems so 
odd, Aunt Mary, that you should be a Romanist; none 
of our family are; but, of course, I know you are a 
convert. We were awfully ‘ High ’ at madam’s — had 
candles, incense, acolytes, and a big crucifix.” 


58 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES ; 


“Come whenever you like, dear,” said Mrs. Little, 
as she kissed Annette good-night, taking no notice of 
the challenge in her foolish little speech. 

But Tom had grown very red in the face, and was on 
the point of telling his cousin what he thought of her 
rude, silly speech, but a quiet look from his mother 
restrained him. 

* * * * * * 

Bang! went the big reveille gun, scaring Annette 
half out of her wits. Like the old gentleman in the 
“Night before Christmas,” she sprang from her bed 
to see what was the matter — when out on the lawn 
there arose such a clatter ; eight buglers blowing away 
with all their might the cheery army getting-up tune : 

“ I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up, 

I can’t get ’em up in the morning.” 

At the first note of reveille the flag was carefully 
hoisted, and floating softly in the morning breeze 
announced that day — the official day of the garrison — 
had begun. 

Then she saw Uncle Fritz suddenly appear, looking 
only half awake ; and when all the sergeants had shouted 
something at him, he seemed satisfied and went sleepily 
back to his quarters. Hardly had he disappeared 
when a bugler came out and sounded a lively air. 
Instantly every soldier was out of sight; it was break- 
fast call. 

It was a beautiful morning, and the girl found the 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


59 


far-reaching view from her quaint dormer-window a 
novel and strangely lovely one to her city-bred eyes. 
As far as the eye could see stretched the great prairie. 

Immediately in front of her lay the small group 
of government buildings; the guard-house with its 
iron doors and barred windows, and solemn sentry, 
pacing slowly to and fro, seemed delightfully mys- 
terious. 

Long, low adobe buildings occupied one whole side 
of the square around which the post was built; these 
were the men’s barracks, and when presently from the 
one at the farthest end of the line appeared a blanketed 
figure with long black hair and moccasined feet, 
Annette gave a little shriek. “ Indians , real live 
Indians /” she exclaimed excitedly. “Oh! I must get 
up ; I shouldn’t have another wink of sleep, and I am 
so afraid I will miss something." So saying she began 
to dress hurriedly and reached the front porch in time 
to see three long lines of ghostly-looking figures, robed 
in peculiar-looking white duck coats, making their way 
across the further end of the parade in evident obedi- 
ence to a very rollicking call which the indefatigable 
bugler had just played. 

“Who are they, and what are they doing?" cried 
Annette in despair. 

“Cavalrymen, going to ‘stables,”’ said Tom’s voice 
unexpectedly. 

“Good morning, Tom," she answered gayly. “I 
am awfully glad you are here to explain what is going 


6o 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


on ; I simply could not go to sleep after the cannon 
wakened me.” 

“You won’t notice it after you’ve been here a week 
or so,” returned the boy; but there was an evident 
lack of pleasant boyish cordiality which even the self- 
absorbed girl noticed. 

The little scene of the night before rankled in Tom’s 
mind, and only for his tacit promise to “ little mother” 
he would have freed his mind to Annette. 

****** 

Everything had been so lovely the day of Annette’s 
arrival that Mrs. Little thought her impressions of her 
niece, gathered during a short visit the previous year, 
might have been prejudiced, but she was soon to dis- 
cover that she had not been entirely mistaken. 

As the lads disappeared from the pleasant breakfast- 
table to do their daily tasks, such as watering the small 
grass-plot in front of the house, feeding the chickens, 
attending to their ponies, and so on, Mrs. Little called 
to Annette: 

“My dear,” she began pleasantly, “yesterday you 
were company, but now you are one of the family and 
shall have your daily work with the rest of the flock. 
I shall expect you to care for your own room, keep it 
very tidy and orderly, so that, with the weekly clean- 
ing Delia is able to give, it will prove quite sufficient 
to make it as dainty and as neat as a pin — as a young 
girl’s room should be.” 

Annette had listened to the first part of her aunt’s 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


61 


speech with a look of incredible surprise; then a 
haughty look settled upon her face as she answered 
disagreeably : 

“ Do you wish me to do such servant's work ? I don’t 
know how to make beds and sweep, and I am sure papa 
would not wish me to. I never did such things in my 
life.” 

“’Tis high time you learned, then, my dear girl,” 
said Mrs. Little in her cheery way. “I will answer for 
papa. You may be sure that I will ask nothing of you 
that papa would not approve of. There are no drones 
in this hive. Why, Nannie girl, with the exception of 
baby Ted, the boys all care for their own rooms, make 
their beds, sweep, and dust. Come and see their 
‘dens,’” said “little mother” laughingly, though a 
mist of sudden tears dimmed her soft blue eyes, for 
this bed-making on the boys’ part was Tom’s idea. 
He had found it was the mother’s tired little hands that 
cleared up their boyish clutter day after day, and pro- 
posed that their bed-rooms should be regulated by the 
West Point system. So their small sleeping-rooms 
were arranged as much as possible like the cadet al- 
coves they had seen at the Point. 

But Annette did not smile at the two spotless, un- 
carpeted little rooms, with their iron cots, and bed- 
clothing fixed a la militaire. She looked angry and sul- 
len ; Mrs. Little thought it best to pay no attention, 
and left her to accomplish her task alone. 

“Hateful thing !” cried the girl when her aunt was 


62 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


out of hearing. “ I will not do this horrid work. I 
will pay Delia extra. I will change my dress now, and 
go out and meet some of the girls.” 

So a very elaborate pink muslin was donned, and An- 
nette, simply shutting her door, walked off to find 
Delia, who agreed readily enough to make her bed; so, 
satisfied that matters were arranged nicely, the young 
lady marched off and did not appear until luncheon- 
time. 

“ The very idea of Aunt Mary expecting such work 
of me ! ” muttered Nan uneasily, for her conscience 
would prick. “I am sure if I am willing to pay Delia 
for her work, Aunt Mary need not object.” 

But the young girl had not seen her father’s letter to 
his sister begging her to teach his little girl to be use- 
ful, to be something more than a useless, helpless, fine 
young lady. 

“ Let her be one of the family, Mary,” he had writ- 
ten, “ sharing the work as well as the play of your five 
lads.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

A PEACEFUL VICTORY. 

‘ ‘ Mother, I’ve borrowed Elinor’s side-saddle for 
this afternoon. May I give Annette her first riding 
lesson ?” asked Tom. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 63 

“ Not this afternoon, dear; your cousin has her work 
to finish,” replied Mrs. Little gravely. 

Annette flushed hotly and began an explanation, but 
her aunt hushed her, telling her they would talk it 
over in her room after luncheon. 

The boys saw that something had gone wrong, so 
took no further notice. 

What Mrs. Little said and did no one ever knew, but 
a very subdued little girl, with every trace of ill-temper 
gone, emerged from Mrs. Little’s sanctum, and made 
herself so sweet and pleasant that Teddy gave her an 
extra hug at bed-time, declaring she was most as good 
as another boy in the family. 

The Fourth of July, and such a scorcher ! No 
fireworks of any kind were allowed inside the 
garrison proper, so the young people had betaken 
themselves, with firecrackers and “ punk,” to the 
“target range,” a hot, dusty spot, but one where 
there was no danger of setting fire to “ Uncle Sam’s” 
buildings. 

“Nan, will you make me some sizzles ?” begged 
Teddy — the formal “Annette” was a thing of the past. 

“Oh! don’t bother, Ted; can’t you see I’m busy 
now? Look out, Elinor; there’s one going off right 
under your foot ! ” 

Ted sat down looking* hurt, but went on patiently 
making “sizzles,” as he called them, for himself. 

“Girls, come here !” cried Elizabeth Kent, who was 
standing off some little distance, the center of an 


6 4 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


animated group of boys and girls, who seem to be hotly 
arguing some matter with Tom Little. 

“ Just listen to Tom, Nan; the boys are going to 
send off a can full of firecrackers under old “Yellow- 
Bird’s tepee”;* the old squaw can’t speak a word of 
English, and it will give her a fine scare. Tom says 
that if we go over by the tepees we’ll be disobeying the 
colonel’s orders, and he won’t go.” 

“ Do, Tom, it will be great fun,” said Annette coax- 
ingly; but the boy remained obdurate. 

Then Nan lost her temper and cried hotly: “ Never 
mind, he’s afraid j I never could bear cowards j we’ll 
go without him ! ” 

The word coward rankled in Tom’s mind; he won- 
dered if he had been too particular; but no, he was 
right not to disobey, and some time he would show 
them he was no coward, only a boy who tried to do 
right. 

The bombarding party had returned ; their plan had 
fallen rather flat, for the old squaw did not show up at 
all; but old Yellow-Bird had come out and sworn at 
them in Sioux. 

Tom was amusing Teddy near one of the big 
target “butts,” building him a sand fort. Nan 
thought she would like to make friends with the 
two, so started slowly in their direction, firing an 
occasional cracker as she walked. “ Buzz, buzz, 
buzz ! ” What an odd sound ; it made her ears ring ! 

* An Indian tent. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


65 


What was it ? Where did it come from ? What was 
Tom shouting to her ? The fatal “buzz-z-z ” sounded 
at her very feet. 

A long, loathsome object, the color of the prairie, 
made a quick spring, and Annette felt a sudden sharp 
sting just above her pretty low tan shoe. 

Before she knew what had really happened Tom, 
with white, despairing face, had stunned the rattler, 
and had stripped her stocking off. 

Yes, there were the two tiny, fatal wounds, just 
above the ankle. 

“Sit still ! ” commanded the boy sternly; then tak- 
ing his penknife slashed the wound freely, then gently 
applying his lips to the rapidly darkening skin, he care- 
fully sucked the poison out. 

By this time the others had come up, and while Jack 
Darrow proceeded to make sure the snake was dead, 
Harry Wynn had flown back to the garrison for 
assistance. 

That evening a very pale, subdued little girl lay on 
the big, comfortable lounge in “ little mother’s ” room, 
and in an agony of grief and repentance had begged 
Tom’s pardon for her taunt in the morning. 

The post-surgeon, kind old Dr. Brown, had made it 
very plain to the young girl just what an heroic act her 
cousin had done. “In all probability, you owe your 
life to Tom’s presence of mind and brave deed. He 
ran the chance of being fatally poisoned; one slight 
break of the skin of his lips would have been sufficient,” 


66 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


finished the doctor, as he dressed the poor, swollen 
limb, already black to the knee. 

Mrs. Little did not say much, but Nan saw her clasp her 
big boy in her arms with such a look of tender love and 
admiration that her own eyes moistened in sympathy. 

It was good to see the look of fatherly pride in Cap- 
tain Little’s face as he wrung Tom’s hand, and patted 
him on the back lovingly. 

When the hour for evening prayers came Nan begged 
to stay, and she felt her heart lifted up in loving grati- 
tude as Mrs. Little poured out her fervent thanks to the 
Sacred Heart of her Saviour for this merciful protection 
of her dear ones. 

When the boys had said good night, Nan heard her 
whisper softly, as she knelt for a moment before an 
exquisite picture of the “Mater Dolorosa”: “O 
Heavenly Mother! what do I not owe thee ? O Mary! 
thou who knowest all a mother’s love and anguish, I 
thank thee for thy loving intercession this day. I feel 
that thou didst intercede with thy Divine Son for my 
son’s life.” 

Nan looked for an instant at the tender, loving face 
of the Mother of Jesus, and wished that she too could 
ask favors of the Saviour’s Mother. 

* * * * * % 

It was some time before Nan recovered from the 
effects of the poison, but as all the young people of the 
post vied with each other in devising new amusements 
for the invalid, time passed very pleasantly. 


OR, QUARTERS NO . 10. 


67 


“Walking-Elk,” one of the young Indian sergeants, 
even brought her a beautiful pair of beaded moccasins 
for the injured foot ; for it was impossible to get a 
shoe on. 

Teddy was her devoted slave, and Nan learned to 
love the quaint little fellow dearly. 

Will and the twins brought her pretty wild flowers, 
and Will even fixed up a small aquarium for her amuse- 
ment, the twins bringing home great buckets of small 
fish to stock it with, until Will remonstrated, telling 
them to try and catch a horned toad instead, as Nan 
had never seen one, and they were very hard to find. 

* * * * * * 

“Two whole weeks, and no scrapes in the Little 
family,” remarked “little mother” after breakfast one 
morning; “after the calm comes a storm, and this 
heavenly peace is too good to last, I am afraid. No 
more snake-bites, however, if you please.” 


CHAPTER V. 

AN EXCITING ADVENTURE. 

Company “I,” the Indian Company, had only been 
organized about six months before Nan’s advent, and 
was still a sufficient novelty to be of great interest to 
the youthful members of the garrison. 


68 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


These strange, dark-skinned soldiers exercised a 
terrible fascination over Teddy. He was desperately 
afraid of them, and yet he loved to watch them at 
their games and amusements. 

The long row of “tepees” in the rear of the com- 
pany where dwelt the squaws of the married men, and 
the visiting relatives — of whom there were always 
plenty, particularly on pay-day — was a most attractive 
spot to Master Ted. He would stand by the hour 
watching the Indian women cook and sew, and the 
dirty babies laughing and playing in the mud or dust. 

The squaws admired his long golden curls im- 
mensely, and would call softly to each other “Washti, 
washti papoose ” (beautiful child). 

Teddy did not object to their admiration at a dis- 
tance; but let one of them approach him, and he was 
off like a shot, his heart beating like a small trip- 
hammer. But to no one except his mother had he 
confessed his nervous dread of the Indians. 

Captain and Mrs. Little occupied a large room on 
the ground-floor, back of the sitting-room, and Ted’s 
small brass cot stood in one corner, directly opposite 
the long French windows that opened on the side 
porch. 

H« He * * * * 

It was a very hot August night, and somehow Ted 
could not sleep; he lay with both his big blue eyes 
wide open “talking with the stars,” as he called it. 

The familiar everyday garrison looked very strange 


OR , QUARTERS NO. 10. 


69 


and lonely at night. It made him feel very comfort- 
able to know that his mother was so near that if he 
called her, even ever so softly, she would come to him. 

The blue eyes had closed sleepily for a moment, 
then with a stare of horror and amazement had 
opened wide. A tall, dark form, with long, black hair 
fantastically braided, and blanket thrown over the 
shoulders, stood at the open window muttering some- 
thing in Sioux. 

The child was nearly paralyzed with terror, yet he 
managed to creep out of his bed without attracting the 
notice of the unearthly visitor. 

“ Papa! ” he called softly, with a long sobbing sigh, 
“O dear papa! please wake up and save us.” 

Then, as Captain Little stirred sleepily, Teddy, 
with a shriek of despair, cried wildly: “An Indian, 
papa; an Indian right here in our room! ” 

With a cry of rage Captain Little jumped from the 
bed and flung himself fiercely upon the intruder. The 
captain was a tall, powerfully built man, but as he 
wrestled with his Indian adversary it was hard to say 
which would win. 

The Indian had never ceased his strange mutterings 
and moaning. 

Mrs. Little, with the hysterical child sobbing in her 
arms, sat still, too utterly dazed and frightened to 
know what to do. 

‘ ‘ Show — a — light — at — the — window — Mary — and 
fire off your pistol ; it will bring the guard quicker than 


70 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


in any other way; I — can — just — hold — my own with 
this brute.” 

The captain had gasped this out slowly; he could not 
afford to lose his breath, and he felt that if he loosened 
his hold upon the Indian, even for the instant neces- 
sary to grasp the pistol, all would be over. 

Hardly had the report of the pistol ceased when the 
cheerful rattle of the guard was heard, and Mr. Barton, 
officer of the day, with the sergeant and a man or two, 
had rushed upon the Indian and soon had him under 
control. 

By this time every one in the house was awake and 
came rushing downstairs too late to be of any use. 

“By Jove, Barton! you came just in time. That 
fellow had the grip of a tiger; he acts as if he were 
crazy — kept asking for water. I know just enough 
Sioux to recognize the word.” 

“ I believe he is crazy or delirious,” said Mr. Barton, 
who had been examining the prisoner closely. 

Suddenly he turned pale and exclaimed something, 
and, telling one of the men to run for the doctor, he 
turned to Captain Little and said: 

“Let every one, Captain, leave the room instantly, 
but ourselves and the guard; here, you men, lend me 
a hand and we’ll lay the prisoner outside on the porch.” 

When the room was cleared he said : “This Indian is 
mad with the small-pox , Captain ; I feel sure it is ‘ Crazy- 
Horse,’ the old ex-chief; he escaped from the Agency 
hospital yesterday, and I have had orders to keep a 


OR, QUARTERS NO . 10. 


7i 


lookout for him. He was probably wandering around 
in search of water when he strayed in here.” 

The doctor's arrival only confirmed the young of- 
ficer’s suspicions; the unfortunate Indian was removed 
to the small building where contagious diseases were 
cared for, but the poor old fellow died the very next day. 

Meantime the Littles had a very disagreeable time 
of it. They were all fumigated and put in quarantine, 
but the captain fared the worst. 

He had been in such close contact with the dreadful 
disease that the colonel ordered him to occupy a small 
tent near the hospital until all danger of contagion was 
past; but this wasn’t the worst of it. After he was 
nearly choked by the sulphur, the doctor decided that 
he must have his hair shaved; and shaved it was. 

The captain said if that were necessary, for his part 
he was content to stay in quarantine until he could 
raise a new crop of hair. 

The children all felt that being in “ quarantine” was 
very delightful and important; and when an extra sen- 
try was placed on duty over the walk in front of their 
quarters, the Littles were envied by all the younger por- 
tion of the garrison. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE PICNIC. 

Nan wrote a very lively account of their Indian 
adventure to her absent father; but she felt very 


72 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES ; 


grateful that her part in it was confined to the 
telling of it. 

She had been with her uncle’s family nearly three 
months now, and her father would hardly have recog- 
nized in the plump sun-burned romp, the pale fashion- 
ably dressed young lady who had bade him farewell on 
the steamer’s deck, quite heart-broken at being exiled 
to the wild West, of which she knew so little. 

One of the first things the cousins did, when the 
quarantine was raised, was to have their pictures 
taken in a group — Annette mounted on Tom’s frisky 
“ bronco,” for under his careful teaching she had be- 
come quite an expert horsewoman; Tom himself in 
full foot-ball costume; Will with a tennis racquet; the 
Twins with their bats and balls; while Ted was posed 
with a gorgeous Indian bow and arrow. 

“The Physical Culture Club,” Annette wrote on the 
one she sent her father. 

And so healthy, happy, and hearty did the little 
group look that Mr. Harold wrote his little girl, that if 
the German baths did not soon effect a cure he was 
coming home to join the Physical Culture Club. 

When the days of quarantine were over, and the 
Littles free to mingle again with their small world, the 
young people decided to give a “picnic tea” to cele- 
brate the happy event. 

They were to ride out to the “Water Holes,” a 
series of springs some eight miles from the post, have 
their tea, and return by the light of the new moon. 


i 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 73 

Lieutenant and Mrs. Brown were to chaperon them ; 
while two of the soldiers drove out in the market-cart 
to carry the provisions and look after the horses. 

A moonlight ride over the wide, level prairies, on 
ponies trained to avoid the prairie-dog holes, to run on 
the keen jump without fear of a stumble is glorious 
fun. 

Annette had been out two or three times with 
her cousins, but to have a whole cavalcade to shout, to 
sing, to run races with, would be far jollier. 

She had talked of nothing but the picnic for days be- 
fore it came off, but when at last the happy time 
arrived Nan developed one of her perverse moods. 

She was very provoking, and Tom felt thoroughly 
out of humor with his pretty cousin. Nothing suited 
her. Her stirrup was too long, then too short; the 
saddle was slipping, though Black Bess was “ cinched” 
as tight as both Tom’s and McGuire’s combined efforts 
could pull her. 

Black Bess seemed to be as perverse as her young 
mistress; but Tom rode steadily at Annette’s side on 
the way to the picnic-spot, and when the pony’s pranc- 
ings and shying became uncomfortable to Nan, he 
would lay a strong hand on the reins, and with an oc- 
casional “Steady, steady, old girl,” manage to quiet 
Mistress Bess. 

But on reaching the picnic-grounds Tom quietly told 
the man in charge of the horses to put his saddle on 
Bess. Annette should not risk the ride home on a frisky 


74 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


horse, that was certain. Unfortunately, Nan overheard 
the order, and secretly determined upon having her 
own way. 

Apparently no one enjoyed the pleasant open-air tea 
more than Nan; she laughed, joked, and made the 
crowd of young people merry with her nonsense. 

Tom paid no attention to her, but busied himself in 
attending to Elinor Deane’s many wants. 

Nan was an excellent mimic. Any peculiarity in 
speech or manner had heretofore been considered fair 
game, but she had soon discovered that Mrs. Little did 
not appreciate a talent that necessitated an unchari- 
table burlesquing of people’s unfortunate peculiarities; 
and as for Tom, he fairly detested it. 

Naughty Nan knew this: so it was to further pro- 
voke her “ goody-goody ” cousin that she commenced 
to mimic Miss Atkins, an elderly spinster sister of the 
colonel’s, who on account of various feline qualities 
had been nick-named by the garrison as “ The old 
Cat.” 

Will had found a tiny sand-lizard, which he was 
trying to induce to crawl into an empty bottle, but on 
hearing Nan begin a speech with an exact imitation of 
poor, soured Miss Atkins’ high, thin voice, he dropped 
the lizard and bottle and, with youthful and perhaps 
indiscreet ardor, called out: 

“I say, Nan, stop that! Mother hates you to do 
it — and you know it.’ 

“ For goodness’ sake! Will, don’t you preach; one 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


75 


in the family is enough. I shall amuse myself as I 
like. You can tattle if you like. I suppose I shan’t 
be kept on bread and water more than three days for 
this particular crime,” said this provoking girl. 

“ Tattle ! ” cried Will, furiously. “ If you were a boy 
I’d make you take that back. You’re a regular sneak, 
that’s what you are, making fun of old Miss Atkins 
behind her back, and to-morrow you’ll smile and kiss 
her. Mother was just right when she said you ” 

But here a hand was laid peremptorily on his lips, 
and Tom said authoritatively: “Let up, yo&ngster; 
what do you care? — it’s only one of Nan’s tantrums. 
Let her alone; getting mad won’t do a bit of good.” 
And Tom quietly led the younger boy off, and presently 
the two were seen hunting among the rocks for another 
lizard. 

Annette flushed uneasily; she felt she had gone too 
far. Public opinion was evidently on Will’s side. To 
recover her popularity she proposed a game of “ Hide- 
and-seek,” offering to be “it”; and soon the rocky 
sides of the canon echoed with the merry shouts of the 
young people. 

When Tom returned with the still ruffled Will, he 
found Nan coolly seated on Bess . 

“Why, McGuire, didn’t you hear me say that I ” 

“Don’t blame the man, Tom; I had the saddles 
changed. I rode Bess here, and I shall certainly ride 
her home.” 

“ Goodness knows you’ve behaved like a simpleton 


76 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


the whole evening; but your foolishness shan't endanger 
your life. I say you shall not ride Black Bess," began 
Tom, unwisely. 

“And I say I will” returned the foolish girl with 
quick anger, giving Bess a sharp cut with her whip, 
which caused the already fretting animal to rear for 
one instant, then dash like mad across the level, open 
prairie. 

“Quick, quick! after her," cried Tom, jumping 
on his own pony without waiting to saddle it ; knowing 
it was vain for him, on his slow old “ Brownie," to try 
to catch up with that rapidly vanishing speck. 

But no one else was saddled up, and none of them 
felt like risking a dash over a trackless waste filled 
with prairie-dog holes, in the dim, uncertain light of a 
very new moon. 

As for Will, his anger still burned fiercely towards 
the provoking girl, and he thought a good scare would 
do her good, and that she was getting what she richly 
deserved. 

It seemed to Nan that she had been rushing like 
mad for hours ; she wondered if Bess would ever tire. 
Just at first the sense of the rapid motion had been 
delightful, and she had felt sure that some one would 
soon catch up with her, but no one had ; and, as she 
looked quickly backward, no one appeared in sight. 
Then for the first time she felt frightened. “Oh, 
dear! I wonder if we are riding in the right direction?" 
she half sobbed. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


77 


It seemed ages to the weary girl when at last Black 
Bess, covered with sweat and foam, ceased her mad run. 

She had no idea where she was; faint and exhausted, 
she began to sob bitterly; the night wind on the plains 
is cold, and Nan soon felt chilled through. She 
thought she would feel warmer walking; so she slipped 
out of the saddle and, throwing the reins over her arm, 
wandered on aimlessly. 

Suddenly a weird, moaning cry sounded from a clump 
of sage-brush, and a long, reddish-brown creature with 
bushy tail sneaked out. 

It was only a cowardly coyote,* but it terrified the 
poor, city-bred child beyond measure. 

Before her eyes came a sweet vision of peace and 
safety; the tender eyes of the “ Mother of Sorrow” 
seemed to look down upon her loneliness with a loving, 
pitying smile. 

Instinctively she paused and, clasping her hands, 
whispered softly: “O heavenly Mother! protect me; 
send some one to me, dear Mary, if you are my mother, 
as Aunt Mary says.” 

As the last word left her lips the faint beat of a 
horse's hoofs was heard. From that moment Nan 
never doubted the reality of Mary’s love and power. 

It was with a feeling of awe that she saw a tall, dark 
figure, seated in an open buggy, approaching. 

“Whom have we here?” called a voice in mingled 
consternation and surprise. 

* Pronounced on the plains ky-ote. 


78 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


“It is I, Father Allen!” cried Nan, joyfully. “My 
horse ran away from the others, father, and I am lost. 
I am Annette Harold, Captain Little’s niece.” The 
explanation ended in a deep sob, which caused the 
good priest to jump from his buggy and, tenderly 
picking up the tired child, tuck her snugly up in the 
warm rugs, while Bess was rapidly tied to the rear of 
the wagon. 

“Come, tell me all about it,” said the priest cheerily, 
as he drove rapidly on. 

When Nan had finished her long explanation, ending 
with an account of her little prayer 

“ Our Blessed Lady! when does she fail to help those 
who appeal to her ? ” said the priest softly. 

“Of course, Father Allen, you know I am not a 
Romanist — ” began the girl. 

“Yes, yes, I know. I have heard of the young lady 
who is a ‘ Catholic ’ but not a ‘ Romanist,’ ” he returned 
with a quizzical smile, which deepened into a frown. 

“You may laugh, father, but I have always been 
taught to call myself a Catholic. Perhaps you do not 
quite understand ” 

“Ido, my poor child,” interrupted the priest with 
a sad smile. “I was one of you for more than twenty 
years.” 

Nan gave an exclamation of surprise. 

“Does it astonish you so much, child? Yes, for 
twenty years I was an Episcopalian, and ten of them a 
minister of that church. In my childhood I had a dear 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


79 


old Catholic nurse who taught me a little prayer to Our 
Blessed Lady, who never fails those who ask her aid. 
I have always attributed my conversion to her — Hark ! 
what is that ? ” 

The report of cannon echoed over the prairie. 

“That is for you, child; they are firing the cannon, 
so that the sound might be a guide to you. Come, 
Laddie, I must hurry you up,” touching lightly the 
powerful bay; “this little girl is lost and her friends 
are troubled about her.” 

“How did you happen to be out so late?” asked 
Nan timidly. 

“I have just taken the Viaticum to one who in life 
neglected his God ; but His mercy is infinite now, as 
in His lifetime. Jesus comes to save sinners.” 

* * * * * * 

It seemed as if the whole garrison was on the porch 
of “Quarters No. io” as Father Allen and Nan drove up. 

But the girl had eyes and ears for no one save her 
aunt. “Forgive me, auntie; I have been so bad and 
hateful,” she cried; and vanished to sob out her story 
in Aunt Mary’s forgiving arms, while Father Allen 
related her adventures to the group outside. 

“ Here, Will, run and tell the sergeant of the guard 
to fire the cannon twice in rapid succession,” oaid the 
colonel. “Half the garrison are out looking for the 
child ; and that was the signal agreed upon to let them 
know if she turned up all right,” explained Colonel 
Atkins. 


8o 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


The next morning Nan assisted devoutly at High 
Mass, and at Benediction in the evening. As the lights 
were being put out, Mrs. Little saw the child slip up 
to the small side altar of the Blessed Virgin, and lay 
at the foot of the statue the bunch of roses she had 
been wearing, while with eyes uplifted to the loving 
face of the heavenly Mother she murmured some fervent 
petition. 

Mrs. Little smiled, then sighed at the sweet sight. 
“Poor, little, wandering lamb!” she whispered softly. 
“O Good Shepherd! gather this little ewe lamb into 
Thy one true fold.” 

Then the last light went out, leaving the reverent, 
kneeling little figure in the shadow, save where the soft 
rose-colored rays from the sanctuary lamp fell like a 
benediction on the brown curls, bent in prayer. 


CHAPTER VII. 

LIGHT IS BREAKING. 

It was the Saturday week following Annette’s wild 
night ride. The elder boys had gone off swimming; 
it was entirely too hot for tennis; so Nan lay lazily in 
the hammock on the shady side-porch, thinking. 

What a jolly, pleasant summer she had had; next 
to her own dear, dead mother, Aunt Mary was the 
sweetest, best woman she had ever known. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


81 


The boys, too, were such good fellows. Both Tom 
and Will were conscientious and high-minded beyond 
their years. Not a bit goody-goody either. The twins, 
though their exuberant spirits often got them into 
scrapes, were as sweet and innocent a pair of laddies 
as one would wish to meet. 

As for Ted, the quaint darling, with his talk about 
heaven and the saints, he was already an angel. He 
had startled Annette very much one day by his earnest 
reply to her question whether he never got lonely? 
“Oh, no!” he had answered readily, “’cause I’se 
never alone. My Guardian Angel is following me 
’round all the time.” 

Annette, quite unaccustomed to this mention of 
heavenly things in everyday life (her religion began 
and ended with Sunday), simply stared in dumb amaze- 
ment at the odd little fellow. 

However, she soon grew used to this “ queer habit,” 
as she mentally termed it, for Mrs. Little was an 
enthusiastic promoter in the League of the Sacred 
Heart, and Tom and Will were both members. At 
breakfast every day the “intention” for the day and 
the practice of some particular virtue was announced 
and if by some chance it was forgotten, Captain Little 
would remind them by asking, “Well, what are my 
four young sinners going to pray for to-day?” 

Nan realized that this pleasant, unselfish family life, 
which she had been allowed to share, was different 
from anything she had been accustomed to. 


82 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


“I wonder if it is their religion that does it? They 
are an awfully pious set; and that seems funny in 
boys,” she mused. “ Of course I know that our Lord 
lived on earth, had a mother, walked and talked just 
as we do; still somehow it doesn’t seem as real to me 
as it does to auntie and the boys. Tom talks as if that 
beautiful young Saint Aloysius was just in the next 
room. ‘My patron,’ Tom calls him, as if he actually 
loved him the same as his brothers. As for the twins, 
they depend upon Saint Anthony as if he were their 
personal friend, and had nothing to do but help small 
boys find their missing property. I have always been 
taught to believe that this devotion to the Virgin and 
the saints was the principal part of the Roman Catholic 
religion. I know better now ; it is not true ” (with an 
emphatic nod of the curly brown head). “I never 
knew any people who loved God and tried to keep his 
commandments as Aunt Mary and her boys. The way 
they pray to the saints is very much the way I get the 
boys to ask favors of Aunt Mary for me, especially 
when I know I don’t deserve them. God’s friends, 
auntie calls the saints. I heard ]our minister say once 
that if we could only be certain the saints could hear 
our prayers, there would be no objection to our praying 
to them. One thing I kndw ,” and a look of reverent 
recollection stole over the .thoughtful little face: “ the 
mother of Jesus heard my pjrayer for help, and answered 
it, too, when I was lost the other night. Not all the min- 
isters in the world could convince me that she did not. 


OR , QUARTERS NO. 10. 


83 


“Then I love to think that Jesus is really on the 
altar. I just love Benediction; it seems like a bit of 
heaven come down on earth. Oh, dear! I am only a 
little girl, and very ignorant, too; still, if being a 
Catholic will make me half as sweet and good as dear 
auntie, I would be one to-morrow. 

“There are the boys. What a racket they are 
making!” as a series of wild war-whoops were heard 
approaching. 

Nan’s reverie was broken in upon by the twins and 
Will, who clamored for something to eat. 

But her afternoon’s meditation made a serious im- 
pression upon her; and that night as she knelt in 
prayer she added a new petition to her usual daily 
ones. 

“ Dear heavenly Mother, pray for me that I may do 
what is right,” she whispered softly. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COOKING-CLUB. 

There is no short road to perfection, and Nan did 
not become a saint, nor anything like one, in a day. 
Still, dating from her night-ride on the prairie, every 
one noticed a great change for the better. 

“Oh! auntie dear, may I join the Cooking-Club?” 
cried Nan one morning, rushing into the kitchen where 
Mrs. Little was making cake. 


8 4 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


“It's the loveliest plan. We are going to meet once 
a week. Then when we know how to cook well enough 
we will give a supper, cooked every bit by ourselves, 
for the boys.” 

Here she paused a moment for breath, giving Mrs. 
Little a chance to ask, “ And who is to be the teacher, 
Nan?” 

“ Teacher?” answered Nan blankly. “We don’t 
intend to have any; we are intelligent enough, I hope, 
to be able to follow a receipt-book we have — Miss 
Parloa’s. A grown-up person, bossing around, would 
spoil all the fun.” 

Mrs. Little saw at once there would be no use in 
arguing the matter, and if she refused to let Nan join 
her young companions, she would be regarded as a 
stern tyrant. Still it was not that which decided her to 
grant the permission; she knew well that Nan’s 
impulsive yet obstinate nature would learn best by 
experience. Only experience could discipline this little 
girl into acknowledging that her own way was not 
always best. So, amidst many jeers from the boys 
about “biscuit bullets,” and “pies like my mother 
used to make,” the Fort Sedgewick Cooking-Club was 
organized and held its first successful meeting at Bertha 
Tompkins’. 

The proceedings were attended with great mystery 
and secrecy. Ted was the only boy initiated, and he 
was solemnly bound over not to reveal the culinary 
secrets at which he assisted. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


85 


Once during the afternoon the boys made a wild 
rush upon the kitchen ; but the girls, hot, sticky, and 
generally dishevelled, met the onslaught with rolling- 
pins and big spoons, while Teddy danced wildly in the 
rear, yelling encouragement to his feminine allies: 
“Give it to ’em; give it to ’em, girls! There’s Harry 
peeking. Oh! oh! Tom’s crawling through the win- 
dow;” for his dignified elder brother seemed to have 
left his dignity behind and was yelling wildly wit*h the 
rest. 

Nan reported at breakfast the next day that the 
meeting had been charming, and the supper, cooked 
entirely by their own hands, a great success. Where- 
upon Will quietly remarked, with a wicked little twinkle : 
“I suppose you hadn’t much appetite at your supper 
then, for I saw you out in the pantry after ‘Tattoo’ 
getting away with a large quantity \)f bread and milk.” 

Nan flushed a little, but remarked airily: “O Will! 
you know cooks never have much of an appetite.” 

“You can’t eat your own mess — that’s what you 
mean,” said Tom. “Then why don’t you have us in 
to perform that necessary duty? Boys have stomachs 
like the traditional ostrich; why, Nan, boys can eat 
anything.” 

“ Can they? ” exclaimed little Ted eagerly. “ Then 
why did you make me plomis not to eat a single fing, 
Momsy!” looking reproachfully at his mother, while 
the boys shouted in unison at the “dead give-away on 
Little Mother.” Only Nan refused to see the joke. 


86 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


“ Laugh all you like; just wait until we give our 
swell supper. Boys that don’t behave, and act rudely, 
will not be invited.” This dreadful threat had the de- 
sired effect, and the boys, for that one day at least, 
were the very pink of politeness. 

Mrs. Little, too, hastened to throw oil on the troubled 
waters: “ It wasn’t because I feared the result of your 
cooking on Ted, Nan, but because he is such a small 
gourmand, and eating between meals is not good for 
little boys, nor big ones either for that matter.” 

j|c % 

It was well on in September before the Cooking- 
Club felt itself proficient to give^ the^long-promised 
supper to the youthful gentlemen of the garrison. But 
finally daintylnvitations, written in Nan’s best hand, 
were sent around the garrison^by the colonel’s orderly, 
borrowed for the occasion, and every boy in the post 
was formally bidden to a “ High Tea,” at seven o’clock 
Thursday evening, at Captain Little’s. 

The boys were on tip-toe with expectation, and 
smacked their lips in lively anticipation of all the good 
things the girls were sure to have. 

The few days preceding the party they were cer- 
tainly on their best behavior; the girls were quite over- 
whelmed with attentions; invitations to tennis, for soda- 
water treats at the “Canteen,” poured in upon them. 

Even Will, opening his heart one day, offered to let 
the girls have a peep at his precious specimens ; this 
was the best he could do. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


87 


As Nan remarked rather sarcastically: “We will 
give a supper once a week if this ecstatic state of affairs 
will only last.” 

The boys had ceased to shout at her every time she 
walked down the “Line ” Tom’s version of one of the 
popular songs of the day: 

“ Have you seen Miss Nancy Nan, 

With her spoon and big cake-pan, 

Walking down to school to-day ? 

Ta-ra-ra-ra boom de aye.” 

There was a great bustle and hurry in the big kitchen 
of “ Quarters No. 10” that pleasant September after- 
noon ; much talking and laughter from the merry young 
cooks, with an occasional crash of china and tins which 
boded ill for Mrs. Little’s kitchen utensils. 

Once Teddy had appeared with a dab of flour on his 
little nose to announce that the howls from the back 
yard came from poor “ Tatters,” the cat, for Nellie 
Barry had accidentally poured boiling bouillon on poor 
kitty’s tail. 

Mamma had kissed the flushed, eager little face, 
suggesting that Ted stay awhile with her and cool off, 
but the young man protested that he wasn’t a bit hot. 
“And, O momsy, it is so escitin’ in the kitchen; Nan 

put salt stid of sugar ” but here mamma clapped 

her hands over her ears and cried merrily: “ Oh, hush! 
Ted; you must not_betray state secrets.” 

She smiled as Ted flew down the stairs, but at once 
went to work in the dining-room and butler’s pantry 


88 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


over something that occupied her the day before and 
all that day, too. 

Delia was evidently in the secret, for she peeped in 
once to say: “ Shure, mim, and it will all be needed — 
sech doin’s.” 

Nora the cook had received a holiday, but Delia 
would have to wait on the table, so she had graciously 
been allowed to witness the methods of the Cooking- 
Club. 

* * * * * * 

Mrs. Little sat in her room upstairs — the sewing- 
room, she called it, where the pretty oratory stood ; 
“Mother’s room,” the boys called it. Not a sound 
had reached her from the noisy young cooks for nearly 
half an hour. 

She was wondering what the sudden silence meant, 
when suddenly poor Nan, flushed and half weeping, 
rushed into the room and threw herself beside her aunt, 
burying the tangled brown curls in Mrs. Little's lap 
while she sobbed out hysterically: 

“ O auntie! it’s half-past six; the boys are coming at 
seven ; nothing is ready ; everything is a failure. I put 
sugar instead of salt in the bouillon. Nellie Barry has 
mixed the chicken salad with the chicken terrapin. Eli- 
nor used soda instead of baking-powder in her biscuit ; 
Nora must have put the soda in a baking-powder can.” 

When Nan had unfolded her long tale of mishaps, 
with a final burst of tears she cried: “Oh! tell us what 
to do, auntie dear.” 


OR , , QUARTERS NO. 10. 


89 


“Where are the girls, Nan?” 

“Down in the kitchen, weeping.” 

“ Run down quickly, and tell them I say to run home 
as fast as they can, put on their best gowns, bathe 
their red eyes, and be back here at five minutes before 
seven. And remember, they are not so much as by 
word or look to betray the dreadful mishaps of this 
afternoon. For the honor of our sex we must not let 
those teasing boys find out what has happened. Now 
off with you — fly ! ” 

At seven o’clock the procession of boys was ushered 
into the parlor, where the six young hostesses, with 
faces still somewhat red from their recent exertions, 
sat with their backs turned carefully to the light; but 
this last circumstance the boys fortunately did not 
observe. 

At five minutes past the hour the dining-room doors 
were thrown open by Delia, who announced that 
“Tea” was served. Teddy folded his little hands 
and slowly and reverently said grace. 

How good everything tasted; the poor, tired young 
cooks thought that never had a supper tasted more 
delicious. 

First came iced bouillon, in Mrs. Little’s dainty Jap- 
anese cups. Then broiled white fish with cucumbers. 
Next came a course of chicken with cream sauce, in 
pate-cases. The salad course came next; ice-cold 
tomatoes, each nestling in a dainty bed of cool green let- 
tuce-leaves and covered with thick-yellow mayonnaise. 


9 o 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


Iced tea with sliced lemon, served in pretty thin 
punch glasses, had accompanied each course. When the 
dessert appeared, fresh peaches half frozen, with a 
great pitcher of thick cream to eat with them ; while a 
huge pound-cake occupied the center of the tables, 
the boys gave an exclamation of delight, while Tom 
observed, eyeing the girls curiously, “ Nan, I thought 
you said cooks never had any appetite for their own 
cooking. It strikes me that none of you have failed to 
enjoy every blessed thing on the table.” 

Here Teddy giggled, but was promptly suppressed 
with a pinch by Elinor Deane, who sat next him. 

“Aunt Mary, how on earth did you ever do it?” 
whispered Nan as the last guest departed, escorted 
home by Tom. 

“To tell the truth, dearie, I half feared just what 
did happen, so I had Nora prepare everything, and told 
her to be home at five minutes before seven. My sup- 
per was all prepared yesterday and this morning. I 
was afraid all afternoon some of you would stumble 
over the peaches packed away in salt and ice — and so 
learn my secret.” 

“You were right, Aunt Mary, about our needing to 
have a teacher,” said Nan humbly, “ and the girls all 
asked me to see if you would not come and show us 
the best way to do things. We’ve had an awful lesson 
to-day.” 

“ No, Nan dear, I really haven’t the time to spare 
for your club, but I have a suggestion to make. Get 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


91 


Mrs. Ward, the little widow in the town whose husband 
so recently died. She is a splendid cook, and I am 
sure whatever sum you could afford to pay her for her 
lessons would be an acceptable addition to her small 
income.” 

In the end Mrs. Little’s suggestion was adopted. 

The boys wondered why the girls thought a teacher 
necessary when they were such fine cooks. But they 
never learned the real reason. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE TWINS DISTINGUISH THEMSELVES. 

The twins, had organized a secret society amongst 
the boys in the post of their own age. They went 
around muttering dark words and making mysterious 
signs and passes. 

Each boy’s mamma, however, was in the secret; Mac 
and Brian were too loyal to have any secret that Little 
Mother could not share. She worked the mysterious 
red letters S. B. B. — Sedgewick Blood Brothers — on 
their tennis shirts, and made the heavy bead rings 
that adorned the little finger of each member of the 
band. 

They had various signs and passwords, but the most 
important signal was the “dropping of the ring” from 
off the finger. This meant that the Brother dropping 


92 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


the ring was in serious danger and unable to call for 
help. Any one dropping the ring by way of a joke was 
to be publicly expelled from the society, and “ cut” by 
all the members. 

Teddy was wild with anxiety to join this fascinating 
society, and devoured with curiosity to learn their 
secrets; so his mother had to plan something for the 
little lad, who hated being left out by the “big 
fellows.” 

So she formed a secret society of two, herself and 
Ted, with a most delightful code of signals. For 
instance,' if Teddy waved his cap once, that meant 
“ Can I have a cookie?” Three waves of the handker- 
chief meant “Yes;” one wave “no;” but I must 
confess the three waves were always signalled back. 

It was a broiling hot September afternoon, and all 
the members of the “S. B. B.” had gone fishing save 
Mac and Brian, who had chosen this particular day to 
try their new bats and balls. 

The “ diamond ” on which the enlisted men practised 
was quite near the “guard-house;” and here the 
two settled down for a hard afternoon’s work. u Flies,” 
“grounders,” “swifts,” all the possible balls were 
faithfully practised. 

Mac had just made a dandy hit; the ball went sailing 
away towards the guard-house, and to Brian’s dismay 
fell inside of a small circular ventilating window of 
the attic. The guard-house, as is usually the case, 
was only one story high, with a very low attic. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


93 


Mac gave vent to a loud howl of disgust — a brand 
new ball was entirely too valuable to lose. 

Both boys started slowly towards the guard-house, 
discussing a plan to recover the lost treasure, when 
suddenly they saw the sergeant of’ the guard run out 
on the porch and call excitedly to “ No. One — that is, 
the sentry walking post in front of the guard-house; 
instantly the sentinel ran forward a few feet and fired 
his piece. 

“Fire!” exclaimed the twins simultaneously, and 
they started on a mad run to see where it was. Their 
father’s company, “G,” was the hook and ladder 
company, and the little boys felt privileged to run 
with it. 

In a garrison when a sentry fires his piece as an 
alarm of fire it is quickly followed by “fire call,” and 
every company bugler seems to see which can sound 
the call loudest and quickest; they usually make a 
fearful din. And when the buglers did not appear, 
he boys paused, while Brian gasped “’Tain’t a fire, 
Mac; it must be a deserter /” Both lads turned short 
and retraced their steps to the guard-house. 

The officer of the day, Lieutenant Morrow, buckling 
on his sword as he ran, was making for the same 
spot. 

The walk that runs in front of the officers’ quarters, 
always spoken of in military circles as “the line,” was 
crowded with women and children, all sure it must 
be their house on fire. 


94 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


In the meantime there were lively times over at the 
guard, everybody talking and explaining at once, until 
the officer of the day made his appearance and restored 
order. He soon elicited the facts from the now hys- 
terical sergeant of the guard, who was responsible for 
the safe-keeping of the prisoners. A military convict, 
awaiting trial for attempted murder, had made his 
escape. The man was a powerful and desperate villain, 
who was never allowed to leave the guard - house 
without a special sentry over him. Altogether it was 
a most mysterious and extraordinary affair; the man 
had deserted, he was gone, there was no doubt of it; 
but how had he gone ? 

How could he, with heavy steel shackles on, have 
walked out in broad daylight? when to do so he must 
pass all the members of the guard, old and trustworthy 
soldiers most of them, and the sentry’s beat extended 
not more than ten feet on either side of the guard- 
house porch. The prisoner had last been seen at 
“ fatigue call,” one o’clock, when some one went in to 
get his dinner dishes. It was now three. 

“He cannot have gotten very far away, even 
if he’s had a three hours’ start, for he certainly 
took his shackles with him,” remarked Lieutenant 
Morrow. “We will organize two or three search 
parties and find the fellow hiding up in the canon, 
no doubt.” 

Twenty minutes later found the greater part of the 
young men of the post, with a few of the older boys, 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


95 


Tom Little among them, actively engaged upon a hunt 
for the deserter. 

Some in the ambulance, with long-distance field- 
glasses, had driven up the trail on the main “ Divide,” 
but most of them were on horseback and scouring the 
prairie in every direction. 

Mac and Brian had, of course, been crazy to go, 
but their father had very peremptorily bade them stay 
at home. “It was no place for little boys,” he had 
said. 

Nan was wild with excitement; she would have liked 
to have mounted Bess well enough, and gone with the 
others in pursuit of the deserter. 

“ Such perfectly fascinating, exciting things do hap- 
pen in army life,” sighed Nan; “I am sure the girls 
will never believe one-half I will have to tell them 
when I go back to New York.” 

“Such exciting events as the Cooking-club supper,” 
suggested Mrs. Little demurely. 

The other half of Mrs. Little’s Secret Society caused 
a welcome diversion just at that moment by waving 
his small cap frantically from the other end of the 
parade ground. 

“Bless the boy! that is the third cookie signal inside 
of two hours,” said Mrs. Little, waving with the 
napkin she was hemming, the expected answer “Yes.” 

“Run to the cookie-box, Nan; I’ll stand treat all 
round.” 

As the twins stood munching their favorite delicacy 


96 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


they suddenly remembered the lost ball, and started 
over to the guard-house determined to recover it. 

Getting permission from the corporal of the guard, 
they stood the short fire-ladder against the side wall, 
and Mac ran lightly up it and disappeared through the 
small opening where the ball had gone in. 

“Don’t be all day about it!” shouted Brian impa- 
tiently, as Mac did not make his appearance. “What 
on earth is keeping you so long? ” 

At that instant a small familiar brown hand reached 
quickly out and deliberately dropped the beaded ring! 
— then instantly vanished, while not a sound was heard. 

Brian’s heart gave a terrific thump; it seemed to 
lodge right in his throat. 

Could Mac be playing a joke? No, it was not one 
bit like steady Mac; besides who ever heard of one 
twin playing a joke on the other? 

But what possible danger could there be in that 
attic ! 

Without further hesitation Brian ran into the guard- 
house and told his story to the corporal. Now, the 
corporal was a keen, ambitious youngster, working 
hard for his sergeant’s chevrons. Instantly the whole 
plot flashed upon him. 

“Not a word, Brian,” he whispered as he took his 
big army pistol from its holster, and saw that it was 
ready for use — “but if I’m not mistaken, Mac has 
tackled the convict .” 

Noiselessly placing the table in the center of the 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


97 


guard-room directly under the trap-door which opened 
into the attic for the purpose of ventilation, and through 
which the prisoner must have made his escape, he softly 
let the door drop, then with a quick spring he was up 
through the narrow opening, and almost instantly Brian 
heard his voice, loud and stern, say : 

“ Throw up your hands, Stockton; the game is up — 
I have you covered! If you’ve hurt a hair on that 
kid’s head, it’ll go hard on you.” 

The “ reliefs ” came tumbling in from the porch, to 
seize the deserter; one of them, however, at the first 
sound of the corporal’s ringing command had thrown 
down his side arms and rifle and disappeared. It 
was discovered afterwards that he had been an ac- 
complice, and it was by his assistance that the prisoner 
had managed to hide in the attic, whence he had 
planned to effect his escape at night. He had already 
filed his shackles so they had come off without any dif- 
ficulty. 

The twins were certainly the heroes of the post, and 
were made to tell their story over and over. 

Mac said that as soon as he dropped inside the win- 
dow he felt himself seized, while a voice whispered 
that if he made a movement, uttered a sound, or tried 
to escape he would be killed. 

The boy instantly recognized his assailant. He was 
awfully frightened ; then he thought of his ring. Here, 
surely, was the time to use it. 

The convict motioned him to lie down. While 


9 8 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


apparently trying to obey him Mac managed, as if by 
accident, to stumble against the window and had hur- 
riedly let the ring drop, entirely unnoticed by the con- 
vict, who was eyeing him savagely, looking at him as 
if he would like to choke him for interfering with his 
plans, and was only prevented from attempting to do 
so for fear of the noise the victim would make. 

Mac confessed with a grin that it was not a very 
cheerful time. 

“ What did you do, Mac, while you were waiting to 
be rescued?” asked the colonel. 

“ Said my prayers, sir.” 

“ Right, my boy! ” answered the gallant old colonel 
heartily. 

“But now, boys, I should like to know the name of 
this wonderful society that has done such good work 
to-day.” 

But not even the colonel could persuade them to 
divulge the secrets of the “ S. B. B.” 


CHAPTER X. 
tom’s cross. 

College opened the first week in October, and 
Tom was making great preparations for his second 
term. His father had the promise of a West Point ap- 
pointment for him in two years, so naturally he was 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


99 


anxious to make the most of his time at college. It was 
the last week in September, and such glorious weather. 

Nan had become perfectly tireless in the saddle; she 
and Tom would ride for miles over the level plains 
stretching away into the horizon, broken only occasion- 
ally by a clump of grease-wood and sage-brush, while off 
to the north a rocky canon led by a gradual ascent up 
the big “ Divide,” over which ran the old “ Cheyenne ” 
trail, much used by those Indians on their semi-annual 
trading visits, before a paternal government trans- 
ported them to the Indian Territory. 

It was a fascinating country over which to ride. No 
barbed wire fences barred the way ; no irate farmers to 
scold for gates left open or fields torn up. Only the 
prairie dogs sat up on their small mounds and barked 
furiously as the children flew by. 

Occasionally they would start up a jack-rabbit, and 
then would ensue a few minutes' lively fun. They had 
no dogs to chase with, but the sturdy little cow ponies 
were quite used to the sport and enjoyed it hugely. 
Perhaps Nan enjoyed it all the better that the rabbit 
always got safely away. 

“ Tom,” said Nan as they were returning to the gar- 
rison from one of their numerous farewell rides, “I 
can’t half tell you how much I shall miss you ; but if 
papa comes home next month I suppose I shall be 
starting to school myself.” 

“ Mother will miss you like anything, Nan; a girl in 
the house is such a comfort.” 


IOO 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


“Oh!” replied Nan, smiling and dimpling at the 
evident sincerity of the boyish compliment, “ do you 
really think so, Tom? Being with you all this summer 
has done me lots of good. I mean to try hard to grow 
up like Aunt Mary. I know now what an awfully sel- 
fish girl I’ve been, never thinking of any one but my- 
self.” 

“Oh! I say, Nan, you’re too hard on yourself.” 

“ Not a bit of it, Tom,” facing her cousin suddenly. 
“ Do you think religions are much help? Do they really 
help to make one good and patient and unselfish? ” 

“Mine does,” answered Tom stoutly, although he 
looked red and uncomfortable over the turn the con- 
versation had taken. He hated talking about religious 
matters with any one but the mother; most boys do. 

“I’ve got a beastly temper, and the pride of Lu- 
cifer.” 

“ How dreadful! ” exclaimed Nan, wondering at the 
humility which made such a confession possible. 
“Why, Tom, I’ve never noticed either of them!” 

“ Perhaps not, little cousin. The only way for me 
is to go off and have my tussle out with Satan all 
alone.” 

“ I should think you would just hate telling your 
sins in confession.” 

“ I do,” said Tom honestly. “ The twins say they 
feel ill before they go into confession, but heavenly 
when they come out; and that just expresses my sen- 
timents exactly.” 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. ioi 

“It must be awful /” shuddered the poor little 
ignoramus. 

* * * * * * 

“ The Board” of cavalry officers out on a purchas- 
ing expedition had just sent in a dozen or so new 
“mounts,” and the instructors in riding, several stal- 
wart young cavalry sergeants, were giving them a little 
preliminary drill down at the coral. Tom and some of 
the other boys were interested spectators of the excit- 
ing scene. 

The very first lesson taught a cavalry horse is the use 
of the reins. He must learn to be “ bridle-wise; ” that 
is, he must understand that he is to move to the right 
when the reins are laid over the right side of the neck, 
and vice-versa. 

A civilian guides his horse to the right by pulling the 
right rein ; a soldier or a cowboy by laying it over the 
horse’s neck. And both soldier and cowboy regard a 
horse that is not bridle-wise with the greatest contempt 
— a “tenderfoot” they call him. 

There was one wicked-looking sorrel that had thrown 
Corporal Davis three times, and he was without a doubt 
one of the best riders in the troop. 

The third time he “ bit the dust ” Tom and the other 
boys jeered at him. His face flushed angrily, and he 
called out: “ Come try this beast yourself, Tom Little; 
see if you can do any better, you are always bragging so 
about your riding.” 

Tom hesitated ; his quick temper and his pride, which 


102 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


would never let him decline a “ dare,” no matter how 
foolish, both tempted him. Conscience whispered that 
it would be disobedience in the spirit, if not in the let- 
ter, of his father’s commands. 

“ Afraid, eh!” sneered the corporal; “them who 
brag most do the least.” 

Every one laughed, and Tom, with an angry light 
in his eyes vaulted the rail fence, and, without conde- 
scending to notice the corporal’s warnings and instruc- 
tions, with a quick spring was in the saddle before the 
horse had time to know his intention. 

Plunging, kicking, rearing, the vicious animal flew 
madly around the corral, bent upon unseating his deter- 
mined rider. 

Tom was a splendid rider; he kept his seat perfectly, 
and all would have gone well but that Harry Wynn 
caught sight of the officer of the day coming to inspect 
the cavalry stables. 

“ Hi, Tom, look! old Grumpy is coming; ” this being 
the disrespectful name given to old Captain Barnes, who 
always reported any unlawful deeds of the youthful 
members of the garrison with great satisfaction. 

Tom turned to gaze upon the advance of the enemy; 
for one fatal instant he loosened his grip. With a 
bound the sorrel, with head lowered, legs stiff, had 
jumped several feet straight up in the air; he came 
down as if his legs were made of cast-iron, and luckless 
Tom shot over his head and was thrown heavily against 
the big gate-posts. Everything went black before him, 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


103 


and he knew nothing more until, opening his eyes with 
a groan, he felt the doctor poking his ribs and saying : 

“ He’s smashed his left arm and there are three 
broken ribs. Harvey, you go to the hospital and tell 
them to bring a stretcher here; you, Jack, run on and 
prepare Mrs. Little, so she will not be scared to death.” 

Mrs. Little had gone down to the village marketing. 
There was no one in the house save Nan and the serv- 
ants, and they were of no use in an emergency, both 
declaring the sight of blood would make them faint — 
evidently expecting to see Tom brought home a man- 
gled corpse. 

Nan flew about with tearful eyes, but with such 
energy that by the time the ghastly-looking “ stretcher ” 
reached the house she had Tom’s iron cot moved down- 
stairs in the “den,” knowing it would be hard to get 
Tom up the narrow, winding staircase without hurting 
him dreadfully. 

“Capital, Miss Nan!” complimented the doctor. 
“Mrs. Little herself could not have done better;” an 
opinion Mrs. Little shared when, an hour later, she 
returned to find “ No. 10 ” turned into a hospital, with 
fly-away Nan established as chief nurse. 

****** 

Tom spent a hard ten minutes while he confessed his 
disobedience to Little Mother, and what it would cost 
him. No starting back to school, the doctor had said, 
for six weeks or two months ; his arm was in pretty bad 
shape. 


104 


THE LIVEL Y LITTLES; 


Mrs. Little uttered no reproaches; she saw that Tom 
was repenting keenly his disobedient folly, and it was 
no time for scolding. “ That was one thing about the 
mother,” her lads would say: “ she never hit a fellow 
when he was down.” So now, when her big boy had 
sobbed out his trouble, she put both arms around him, 
and drew the rough brown head close while she whis- 
pered: 

“ It is hard, Tom; but now that this cross has come 
to you bear it patiently, bravely, and He who carried 
his cross to Calvary will comfort and aid you. Offer 
up to the Sacred Heart your disappointment at not 
being able to return to college. The least thing we do 
for Him, Tom dear, will not go unrewarded.” 

“I will, mother dear,” responded the invalid hum- 
bly. 

Mother did not often preach, but when she did her 
boys thought her little sermons just the thing. “They 
hit a fellow just right,” as Tom explained. 

Captain Little looked very grave when Tom explained 
the cause of the accident, and his simple comment of 
“ I thought I could trust my boy better than that ” 
hurt Tom more than a dozen scoldings. 

“I'm awfully ashamed and sorry, sir,” he began 
when his father interrupted him with 

“Well, then, prove it, Tom; keep on with your 
studies, and I will hear you every evening.” 

“Thank you, sir; I know I don’t deserve it,” said 
poor Tom gratefully. “ I’ll study my very best.” 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


105 

And so it was settled, and Tom found that love and 
sympathy made the burden light, while the knowledge 
that he was bearing his cross patiently in imitation of 
his Divine Lord made the pain of the broken bones 
easier to stand. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE LIGHT COMES. 

Nan was certainly a ministering angel during Tom’s 
convalescence; with sweet and new unselfishness she 
tried in every way to lessen Mrs. Little’s cares. 

A great, though secret change had taken place in 
the young girl’s heart; for some time she had been 
praying fervently to the Sacred Heart for guidance. 
Daily her petitions had ascended to her heavenly 
Mother for grace to do what was right. 

Her father had written, in answer to her question as 
to whether he would object to her becoming a Roman- 
ist, that he was delighted at the prospect of her becom- 
ing a real Catholic, if she thought it best. 

Running joyfully into Mrs. Little’s room, fluttering 
the open letter, Nan exclaimed excitedly: “Aunt 
Mary, I’m going to be baptized. Papa says I may.” 

Mrs. Little said nothing: only looked grave. Nan 
was greatly disappointed. Like many others, she im- 
agined that Catholics were always overjoyed to receive 


106 THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 

a convert; therefore she expected a great fuss to be 
made over her as soon as she announced her inten- 
tions. 

She really fancied, poor foolish child ! that she, An- 
nette Harold, only child and heiress of the wealthy 
banker’s millions, was conferring an honor upon God’s 
Holy Church by enrolling herself amongst its mem- 
bers. 

But after a half-hour’s talk with her aunt she emerged 
with quite a solemn look upon her merry face. This 
thing of being a Catholic meant a good deal more than 
just saying so. 

The twins were members of Father Allen’s First Com- 
munion class, and Nan joined it to receive instruction, 
as well as to prepare to receive her Lord. She was 
very eager to make her First Communion, saying she 
had several years of neglect to repair. She studied 
her catechism hard, and listened humbly to the father’s 
instructions before giving her conditional baptism. 

The priest had decided upon the feast of “ All 
Saints” for the day of their First Communion. He 
had many First Communion classes at his different mis- 
sions, so he was obliged to arrange it that they might 
not all come together. 

Annette had been made very happy by a kind letter 
from her father. 

“ I have just been to the pretty old village church to 
witness the children’s First Communion,” he wrote, 
“and a lovely and touching sight it was: the flaxen- 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


107 


haired, blue-eyed Gretchens, with their white gowns and 
floating veils, all looking so solemn yet happy; the 
tow-headed Hanses, with neat dark suits, white gloves 
and ties, and broad streamers of white ribbon floating 
from their left arms. And both girls and boys with an 
air of love and reverence that greatly impressed me. 

“I write at length, so that my little daughter may 
know that her papa will be with her in heart and 
thought on the great day, though separated by so 
many thousand miles. I enclose a check for the pretty 
white gown, veil, and other necessaries.” 

The check was for so large an amount that Nan ut- 
tered an exclamation of joy. 

“What is it, dear?” asked Aunt Mary, smiling at 
the girl’s pleasure. 

“ Papa has been so generous; see how much money 
he has sent to buy my First Communion dress. I shall 
not need a third of it; and I have so wanted to do two 
things : First, I shall send to Omaha for enough flow- 
ers to cover the altar. When our Lord is going to give 
me so much, I want to do some little thing for Him. 
Then, Aunt Mary, there are those two poor McManey 
children, from Laundress Row ; they were not at cate- 
chism yesterday, and Elinor Deane told me they were 
not going to make their First Communion with us, be- 
cause they could not afford the new clothes. This 
(waving the check) happily will buy all they need.” 

“ Sweet and generous thoughts, little niece,” replied 
her aunt, thinking meantime what a great change for 


108 THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 

the better had come over this child. “ No one can 
love the Sacred Heart,” she mused, “ without reflect- 
ing, if ever so little, the light of generous, patient love 
shining there ; it casts a glow upon even the humblest 
of His followers.” 

“ I will not forestall your pleasure in adorning with 
sweet flowers our Lord’s dwelling-place, and you may 
give Mary her outfit; but the twins have already 
emptied their savings-banks and asked me to get Dan’s 
clothes just like theirs — they do not want any one to 
know, so do not speak of it — God bless my dear little 
lads!” she whispered with a little break in her voice. 
This sweet spontaneous act of charity on the part of 
her two “ Irrepressibles,” as she often called the twins, 
had touched her deeply. 

The children went into a three days’ “ Retreat,” all 
going to confession the eve of the great day; when 
Nan came back from the church she went in to bid 
Tom good-night. She looked so positively beatific 
that Tom, remembering a certain conversation they 
had had once on the subject of confession, said mis- 
chievously: “ It wasn’t so awful after all, was it, Nan?” 

“Yes, it was at first, Tom, and I was dreadfully 
scared too; but Father Allen is so good and kind, and 
now that it is over with I feel so happy and light- 
hearted, I could sing and dance for very joy.” 

“Yes, I know,” answered Tom sympathetically. 
“ I’ve been there myself. But you’ll be happier still 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


log 


to-morrow. The doctor has given me permission to 
hobble up to the chapel on my crutches, and I wouldn’t 
miss it for anything in the world.” 

The old sun never shone upon a lovelier sight than 
those twelve young communicants at the altar-rails. 

The old gray stone chapel had been decked by lov- 
ing hands, as if for a marriage feast, and surely it was 
one — the union of youth and innocence with Love 
Divine. 

The Mass was a low one, but all during it the choir 
sang sweet English hymns of joy and praise. And 
when, after the Consecration, Lieutenant Powers, the 
tenor, sang with exquisite feeling the “O Salutaris ” 
there was not a dry eye in the church. 

Father Allen’s voice trembled as he pronounced 
the “ Domine, non sum dignus.” But it was with a 
feeling of exultant joy that h^ gave to these 
precious little ones of the Master the ‘ Bread of Life,” 
the “ Food of Angels.” 

“It was a beautiful sight; so affecting too,” re- 
marked Mrs. Harris to her friend Mrs. Thorp, both 
non-Catholics. “ But did you notice one thing? Annette 
Harold’s gown and veil were not one bit better than 
that laundress child’s Mary McManey; they looked as 
if they had come out of the same box.” 

“ Yes, I did notice it, and wondered that Mrs. Little 
would allow it. But then the McManey boy had on a 
suit exactly like those of the twins.” 

Nan did not hear these criticisms; but she would 


no 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


not have minded at all, for she was already learning 
the lessons of her Divine Master, who says to his faith- 
ful disciples, “ Come learn of Me, for I am meek and 
humble of heart.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

A DOLEFUL THANKSGIVING. 

There was an added sweetness in Annette’s face 
and a new light in the brown eyes since the happy day 
of her First Communion. 

Our “song-bird,” Uncle Fritz re-christened her, for 
the child made the house gay with sweet bursts of 
melody — singing her sweet, old-fashioned hymns as she 
went about her daily tasks, not only willingly but as if 
they were a pleasure. 

“Aunt Mary, I am so happy,” she would say a 
dozen times a day, popping her head in Mrs. Little’s 
room just for a moment. 

Tom’s broken bones had healed nicely; he was to 
start back to college right after Thanksgiving. 

Will and the twins were hard at work at the school 
in the village near by; while Ted recited his lessons to 
“his Nannie,” who was so patient with him that he 
forgot to hate them. 

Nan expected her father home by Thanksgiving. 
He was to come for her, and after the Thanksgiving 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


hi 


holidays they, with Tom, were to go East, where Nan 
was to enter a convent school. 

“ I think we may count on a quiet winter,” remarked 
Mrs. Little to her flock, as they sat in front of the 
glowing, open fire listening to the wind howling outside, 
and the soft flurry of the snow as it beat against the 
windows. 

“ We have certainly had rather a lively summer. I 
am afraid Nan will find convent life rather quiet after 
the hurly-burly of the Little family.” 

“ Well, auntie, at least there will be no rattlesnakes, 
crazy Indians, and fleeing deserters to interfere with 
my studies,” laughingly answered Nan. 

“The Thanksgiving turkey is so fat now he’ll bust 
before he’s killed,” said the twins suddenly, and in 
one breath. Everybody laughed ; apparently these two 
even thought in unison. 

“Why so quiet, Fritz?” asked Mrs. Little of her 
husband, who sat rather soberly reading yesterday’s 
daily paper which had come in the evening mail. 

“ I was just wondering, my dear, whether I’d be 
here to help eat that big turkey.” 

“Do you really think the Indians will give serious 
trouble this winter, Fritz? ” Mrs. Little questioned, 
looking anxious; “why I thought they never broke 
out until spring.” 

“As a rule they do not; but matters seem to be in 
a pretty bad way. The Indians claim they are starving, 
and then ‘Running Bull,’ the great and influential Brule 


1 12 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


chief, announces to his people that the ‘ Indian Mes- 
siah * has again appeared to him, saying that if the In- 
dians will only dance long enough, the Great Spirit 
will give them power to kill all white men, and the 
guns of the soldiers will have no power to kill. Here 
is a full account of it in the Bee. 1 * 

“ I thought you never placed much reliance on news- 
paper stories, dear,” said Mrs. Little. 

“ Neither do I, but this account happens to coincide 
with the report from Department Headquarters re- 
ceived this morning. The colonel has received tele- 
graphic instructions to have this command in readiness 
for field duty at a moment’s notice.” 

“ O Fritz! and you never told me,” cried Mrs. Little 
reproachfully. 

‘‘Why should I? My mess-kit is ready, my field- 
chest packed. Tom helped me with it, and we did not 
want to worry the Little Mother unnecessarily, did we, 
lads?” 

But Mrs. Little had buried her face in Ted’s golden 
curls, and made no reply. 

Nan looked at the little group with wondering, fear- 
ful eyes. An Indian war in the abstract was rather a 
vague and fascinating affair; but for one’s father to be 
obliged to go and actually fight — ah ! that was terrible. 
Army life wasn’t all play, after all. 

A sharp ring at the bell disturbed the silence that 
had fallen upon them all; the twins rushed to answer it. 

“The commandin’ officer’s compliments to Captain 


OR, QUARTERS NO . 10. 


113 

Little, and will he report at the colonel’s quarters? 
We’re ordered in the field, an’ our cars is bein’ run in 
now to the quartermaster’s office, b’ys.” The first 
part of the orderly’s speech was an official message, 
but the latter information was imparted to the boys as 
a most exciting piece of news too good to be kept. 
Every word had been heard by the group by the fire- 
side. 

By one o’clock the entire command, save one officer 
and a few men to do guard duty and run the post, was 
off to the scene of the trouble. 

In the darkness and cold, without even the band to 
cheer them up with the lively tune of “ The Girl I Left 
Behind Me,” the troops marched down to the small 
station, looking grim and determined, for the wires 
had brought the news of a terrible massacre, of mur- 
dered women and children, of burned homes and 
fleeing settlers. 

Captain Little had only a moment to spare for his 
farewells to his dear ones. 

“ Tom, my boy, will you give up returning to college 
until I get back? You can study here at home, and 
I shall feel better to think that mother has you to 
depend upon.” 

“ Willingly, father,” returned Tom, wringing his 
father’s hand; “trust me, I’ll look after them all.” 

Then, with a tender kiss for all, the captain was off 
to join his men. 

The children sat and stared at each other as if in a 


1 14 THE LIVELY LITTLES; 

dream ; it had all happened so quickly they could not 
yet realize it. 

Mrs. Little had quietly slipped away to her room, 
where on her knees she was recommending to the 
Divine protection that dear husband. 

***** * 

4 ‘It never rains but it pours!” exclaimed Nan at 
the breakfast table next morning, with a half-sob. 
“Papa writes that he has been detained, and cannot 
possibly get back before Christmas. Read what he 
says, auntie,” handing her letter to Mrs. Little. 

“ I am very sorry for your disappointment, dear, 
but glad to know I can keep my little girl with me 
awhile longer.” 

“ I love to stay here with you all, but I am so home- 
sick for papa. Oh, dear! I feel as if I just couldrit 
wait.” 

* * * * * * 

News from the front continued to be cheerful, and 
the little garrison of women and children settled down 
to their monotonous life, only rousing into life when 
some particularly wild Indian rumor would be started. 

It was just three days before Thanksgiving; the big 
turkey hung dressed and ready for the oven from the 
store-room rafters, a sight beautiful to behold. 

Teddy wished a dozen times a day they could send 
him to papa, who was living on bacon and hard tack, 
and what stores the commissary could get to them. 

“A splendid, long letter from papa, chicks,” said 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10 . 115 

Mrs. Little cheerily, “with a kiss and a message 
apiece.” 

“ He says, ‘Tell Tom I am proud to think he is such 
a comfort to his mother; and Will, that he is so faith- 
ful about school, and in helping his younger brothers; 
as for the twins, a little bird tells me they have not 
missed once feeding the chickens and turkeys, no 
matter how cold ; and this same little bird has whispered 
that Teddy is so good about learning his lessons, and 
the young teacher so sweet and patient in hearing them, 
that both deserve a reward of merit.” 

The children were delighted with their messages. 

“ Mine is best of all,” continued Mrs. Little happily, 
and she read: “ I really think the worst is over. The 
Indians seem sullen, but see how foolish it is to resist 
the odds against them. Small bands are coming in, and 
laying down their arms every day now. I think I am safe 
in saying, unless something unforeseen should happen, 
that a few weeks will see our command home again.” 

Hardly had she finished the last word when the 
sound of confused sobbing, excited talking and ex- 
clamations reached them. Mrs. Little turned pale 
and rose to see what the trouble was; as she did so 
the front door was thrown open violently and a dozen 
frightened and excited ladies called out wildly: “Oh! 
Mrs. Little, have you heard the news? There has 
been a fight; our battalion was engaged, and one 
officer has been killed and one fatally wounded, and 
we don’t know who they are.” 


n6 THE LIVEL V LITTLES ; 

“Not my Jack, I feel sure; he is so young and 
brave, God will not take him,” murmured little Mrs. 
Haines, the bride of the regiment. 

Mr. Barnes, the young officer left in charge, stood 
at the open door and beckoned Mrs. Little out. 

“Mrs. Little, your husband is wounded and wants 
you to come to him at once,” he said slowly, with a 
half-sob in his young voice; “they’ve taken him to 
the sisters at Pine Ridge. 

“It is poor Jack that is killed. Will you break it 
to Mrs. Haines? Poor little woman, I tried to, but I 
could not do it.” 

* * * * * * 

It was a very doleful little group that sat down to 

the dinner-table that gloomy 30th of November. 

Tom, looking very manly, was in his father’s place, 
carefully looking after the wants of the younger ones ; 
but no one had any appetite; they were too sorrowful 
to eat. 

“ This turkey will do for our Christmas dinner, too, if 
you do not eat any more than this,” said Nan, trying 
to cheer them up a bit. But Tom only looked re- 
proachfully at her, and remarked gloomily: “Dear 
knows where we’ll be by that time.” 

“ Right here, with dear uncle safe and well at home,” 
replied Nan, determined not to give way. 

“Well I don’t know; things look very gloomy; I’m 
sure we haven’t much to be thankful for this Thanks- 
giving.” 


OR, QUARTERS MO. 10. 


117 

“O Tom! think a minute ” Nan was beginning, 

when the door-bell rang and Delia brought in the 
dreaded yellow envelope. 

Tom turned quite white and sick. “ I can’t open it, 
Nan,*’ he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. 

Nan’s fingers trembled and her heart was faint with 
fear as she slowly tore open the telegram. Her face 
changed rapidly as she glanced at the short message. 

“Good news, good news!” she cried, wildly de- 
lighted. “Just listen; it’s from auntie: ‘Father is 
better. Doctors say he will recover. He bids you be 
cheerful and sends love to all.*” 

So the Thanksgiving dinner, for all it had begun so 
gloomily, ended right merrily in renewed hope, and 
grateful thanks that the life of the dear father was 
spared. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A HAPPY CHRISTMAS. 

The second week in December the troops returned to 
Fort Sedgewick, to receive a perfect ovation. The long 
train carrying the “Command ” came in the post about 
eleven o’clock in the morning; the companies were 
marched to the center of the parade ground, and there 
dismissed. 

With wild hurrahs the men ran to their respective 
barracks; while the married men, officers and soldiers 


n8 THE LIVELY LITTLES; 

alike, were overwhelmed with demonstrations of joy, 
seemingly not minding in the least being hugged and 
kissed right on the parade ground. 

As soon as a little order was restored in the joyfully 
excited community, the colonel’s wife, in the name of 
all the ladies, asked the returned warriors to meet at 
her house in about an hour for luncheon. 

The kind old colonel saw the wistful group on the 
porch of Captain Little’s quarters, looking with long- 
ing eyes at this glad exchange of greeting in which they 
had no part; and he stopped a moment to say cheerily : 

“All of you report at my quarters at one o’clock 
sharp, and don’t eat your luncheon before you come. I 
had a telegram from Pine Ridge this morning; your 
father is getting along splendidly, we shall have him 
with us by Christmas.” 

It was a pretty and significant scene that Nan saw, 
as the white-gloved orderly ushered her into the parlor 
at the Colonel’s. The long table in the dining-room 
was set with the finest glass and silver in the garrison, 
every one contributing her very best — while at the 
table, still in their rough field rig, sat the officers, the 
ladies waiting upon them, each one intent upon seing 
that her own particular hero was not overlooked. 

A vacant seat at the colonel’s left, with a battered 
forage-cap lying at the empty place, was a silent but 
eloquent reminder of the brother officer who had an- 
swered to the soldier’s last roll call. 

Another seat to the colonel’s right was also empty. 


0R y QUARTERS NO. 10. 


119 

“Come here, Ted, and fill your father’s place,” 
called the Colonel. “We’ve elected you to represent 
the Little family, as there wasn't room for you all.” 

Ted retired shyly behind Nan’s shoulder, but was 
soon persuaded to occupy the seat of honor, where he 
kept the ladies busy attending to his many wants. 

After the big people had finished, the young ones 
were invited out to the dining-room, and a merry time 
they had of it. 

“It would have been simply perfect, wouldn’t it, 
Tom,” whispered Nan, “ if only we could have had our 
fathers here, too? ” 

“Yes, ” he replied gruffly, but with a little quiver of emo- 
tion in his voice, which he tried in vain to control. For 
the thought that his father might have been lying with 
poor Lieutenant Haines had been near to upsetting him 
every time he looked at the vacant seat. Never again, 
no matter what the future might bring, would he say 
or think even that he had nothing to be grateful for. 
* * * * * * 

Christmas eve ; and a regular old-fashioned Christ- 
mas too — for the old fort was covered with a thick 
mantle of snow. The sentries, clad in huge buffalo 
coats with fur caps and gloves, walked briskly up and 
down their respective beats. 

The moon just appearing from behind the Divide, 
made the whole scene as plain as day to Nan’s delighted 
eyes, as she peered out from behind the shelter of the 
heavy curtains. 


120 


THE LIVELY LITTLES; 


“ Please, Miss Nan,” said Delia, appearing with a 
huge bundle of toys, “ the men of the company send 
these for Mac and Brian and Ted, with best wishes for 
a Merry Christmas.'’ 

“ How lovely of them! ” cried Nan. 

“ They always do it,” said Tom. “ Will and I used to 
get them when we were little chaps. Of course it’s for 
father’s sake they do it. The men would go through 
fire and water for him. They can’t make father presents, 
so they always remember the children at Christmas.” 

“ Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra,” sang a bugle. “Tattoo!” ex- 
claimed Nan. “ Come, Tom, we must finish this tree 
and get to bed if we want to wake up in time for the 
five o’clock mass. 

Three long black stockings, owned by the twins and 
Teddy, adorned the parlor mantel ; over his Teddy had 
printed in big capitals — “I am Teddy, dear Santy 
Claws, not the twins.” 

“Isn’t Ted a darling? ” asked Nan, as she and Tom 
deftly strung the tall tree with the glittering objects 
which went to make its beauty. 

“ He doesn’t wish old Santa to make any mistakes,” 
laughed Tom. 

Mrs. Little had written that they were to prepare for 
Christmas just the same as if she were at home, as the 
doctors could not say positively when the dear invalid 
could be moved with safety. 

She had sent them a check to buy their usual gifts; 
then had added mysteriously: 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


121 


“ My two principal gifts will not arrive until Christ- 
mas eve, on the eleven o’clock train. It has been 
quite impossible to get them there sooner, but I partic- 
ularly wish that you do not go down to the express- 
office for them, as I have made the necessary arrange- 
ments to have them brought at once to the house.” 

“I had so counted upon papa’s getting here for 
Christmas,” Nan was saying as she fastened a gaudy 
butterfly to a high branch — “ but I did not even get a 
letter by the last steamer.” 

“It’ll get here by the next,” responded Tom cheer- 
fully. “ It’s some business that has caused the delay.” 

“ That doesn’t make it any the easier to bear,” Nan 
said, rather huffishly, for Tom had not been very sym- 
pathetic. 

“ I wonder what on earth will be in those boxes,” an- 
swered Tom, anxious to turn the conversation before 
Nan was reduced to tears. She instantly fell into the 
trap and replied eagerly : 

“I am just crazy to know, and Ted stayed awake 
half an hour guessing all the impossible things imagi- 
nable, from a cart and pony to a gold watch. 

“ There, the tree is finished at last. Isn’t it a beauty? 
It does not need another thing. Now fix the angel up 
on top so he will look as though he were flying, then 
we can sit down and rest until train-time.” 

Nan, curled up on the sofa, had dropped off into a 
most delightful doze; and Tom was nodding sleepily 
behind his book, so that neither heard the slight 


122 


THE LIVELY LITTLES ; 


bustle of an arrival as the wagon drove up to the 
house. 

Tom dropped his book with a bang, and Nan started 
wildly to her feet, as voices familiarly dear to each 
exclaimed : 

“Where are my boys?” and “Where’s my little 
girl?” And Nan found herself clasped close to her 
father’s heart, while Tom, great, tall lad that he was, 
had thrown both arms around his father’s neck crying 
with boyish love and pride : 

“Oh! dear father, I am so glad to see you, and so 
proud of you ; let me take your crutches ; lean on me, sir. ” 

It was a joyful moment for all; and Mrs. Little, 
from amidst the piles of luggage, called out merrily: 

“ Well, young people, how do you like my two prin- 
cipal gifts ! ” 

“This is why you said we were not to go to the 
train,” and “This is why I got no letter in the last 
mail,” exclaimed Tom and Nan in one breath. 

By this time the talking and laughing roused Will 
and the twins; and as they hung in silent joy around 
their father’s chair, Ted in his little nightgown, half 
asleep, made his appearance and was soon cuddled close 
in his father’s arms. 

It was twelve o’clock before Mrs. Little got her little 
flock off to bed for the night ; but the threat that Santa 
Claus might come, and, finding everybody awake, drive 
on, sent the children scampering off and the elders 
soon followed suit. 


OR, QUARTERS NO. 10. 


123 


A very happy and merry time followed; the days 
seemed to fly away, and when at last the holidays were 
over, and the day of departure came for Mr. Harold, 
Nan and Tom, there was universal woe in the family. 

The ambulance stood waiting to take them to the 
depot; but Nan, in tears, clung to her auntie crying 
dolefully, with the twins sniffling in the background, 
while Teddie clutched her skirts determinedly as if he 
would prevent her moving. 

Mrs. Little’s own eyes filled with tears as she kissed 
the young girl for the last time. 

‘‘I shall miss my little daughter more than I can 
say,” she whispered fondly, “but your father has prom- 
ised to let me have you every vacation, and to come 
himself part of the time.” 

It was this assurance that sent Nan off smiling in the 
midst of her tears, and enabled her to respond to the 
vigorous farewells, waved with sheets, towels, anything 
big, in fact, from every window in “ Quarters No. 10,” 
until the wagon was entirely out of sight. 


I 









HOW POLLY WAS LOST. 


TT was a very hot morning, and mamma sat at her 
* pretty desk, surrounded by a pile of housekeeping 
books, making up her accounts. It was very absorbing, 
and Polly, who was playing very happily with her old 
black Dinah, found she could get no answer to her 
frequent questions. 

“Please, mamma, may I have your ’mellin’ salts?” 

“Twenty-six and eight are thirty- two — no, no, 
thirty-four,” replies mamma. 

“Please, dearie ” — Polly’s pet name for her mamma — 
“tan’t I powder Dinah, she’s so awful hot?” 

No answer at all this time, so Polly resolved to take 
the law in her own hands. 

Half an hour later nurse comes in to take Polly out 
for her morning’s play — out on the big, shady parade 
ground of old Fort Warren, where the big cannons 
which stand on either side of the tall flagstaff, shaded 
by huge, old elms, make the most delightful play-ground 
imaginable. 

“Isn’t Polly with you, ma’am?” says nurse. 


126 


HOW POLLY WAS LOST 


“She was here a moment ago, nurse,” answered 
Mrs. Cameron. 

“ Little rogue! I suspect she is hiding from you.” 

“Polly! Polly!” call both mamma and nurse — but 
no Polly answers. 

“Perhaps she has already gone out to play,” sug- 
gests nurse. “ I’ll go and see.” 

But no; Polly is not on the parade with the other 
children and they have not seen her; neither is she in 
the house, for Mrs. Cameron and the servants search 
everywhere. 

Poor mamma, not stopping to put on a hat, runs up 
and down the whole long line of officers’ quarters asking 
if Polly is there. 

But after a half-hour’s anxious search throughout the 
entire post, that no one has seen little Polly Cameron 
that morning soon comes to light. 

Mrs. Cameron was nearly distracted, and nurse lost 
her wits entirely and ran up and down the line wringing 
her hands and weeping, and looking into the shallow, 
little irrigating ditches that bordered the parade, and 
under the wooden benches, where sturdy three-year-old 
Polly could no more have hidden herself than the big 
orderly who was on duty in front of the commanding 
officer’s quarters. 

Soon the entire garrison, men, women, and children, 
had joined in the search for the lost child. 

The first sergeant of Captain Cameron’s company 
came over to tell Mrs. Cameron that the company had 


HO W POLL Y WAS LOST . 


127 


turned out to look for Polly, with orders not to return 
till they found her ; several other search parties started 
out at the same time, determining to examine every 
foot of the prairie for traces of the lost baby. 

In the meantime Colonel Harris had telegraphed 
Captain Cameron at his club in the neighboring city, 
where he had run up for the day. 

“ Come back at once. Polly is lost.” 

This message reached the poor captain just as he 
was 'sitting down to lunch with a party of congenial 
friends. Throwing the despatch on the table as an 
explanation to the startled gentlemen, he tore madly 
down the street to the depot, only to [find the noon 
train just vanishing out of sight, and no other until 
four o’clock. 

Without pausing to take breath, the distracted father 
rushed to the nearest livery stable, and in five minutes 
was tearing on horseback down the road to Fort Warren, 
as if doing his best to overtake the flying train. 

Poor Mrs. Cameron, thoroughly overcome with grief 
and anxiety, was led back in a half-fainting condition 
to her home, all insisting that she could do nothing to 
help matters. 

Poor little mother! perhaps she could not help by 
searching out in the hot sun, for every particle of 
strength seemed to have left her; but there was one 
thing she could do, and so she begged to be left alone. 

Then throwing herself in front of her beautiful pic- 
ture of the Sacred Heart, she poured forth her anguish 


128 


HO W POLL Y WAS LOST. 


and sorrow, beseeching help from Him who never yet 
has failed to answer a mother’s prayer. 

Cook and nurse were down on their knees in the 
kitchen saying, as well as they could between the sobs 
that nearly choked them, the Rosary, begging the 
“Mother of all little children” to protect and return 
the little wanderer — dear little, golden-haired, blue-eyed 
baby, with her quaint speech and sweet nature. Little 
Sunshine was her pet name — every one loved and 
made much of the child. 

The old, gray-haired first sergeant, Maloney, had 
known Polly from the time she was a tiny baby; indeed, 
he had known her mamma when she was quite a young 
girl — “long before she jined the regiment,” the old 
man would often say. 

He did not go with the rest of his men; but with a 
dreadful fear clutching at his heart, and tears in his 
old eyes, that had not known what it meant to weep 
for so long that they had almost forgotten how, he 
went directly to the big pond back of the quartermaster 
stables, where the mules were watered daily The 
pond was a famous fishing resort for all the garrison 
children, but they had one and all been forbidden to 
go there without some older person. However, Ma- 
loney went straight there ; and when, fresh in the wet 
sand, he saw the imprint of baby feet, the tears over- 
flowed and ran unchecked and unheeded down his 
weather-beaten cheeks. 

“Merciful God, help me to tell her father!” he 


HOW POLLY WAS LOST. 


129 


prayed, and retraced his steps slowly and painfully to 
Captain Cameron’s quarters. 

Not a soul was in sight as the sergeant came down 
the line, but away off down the dusty prairie road that 
led into Mitchel a horseman riding with mad haste 
could be seen. 

“ Maybe ’twill be the captain,” he thought with the 
quick insight that love and sympathy often give; “he 
will have missed the train and is riding back.” 

So the sergeant waited until the horseman, dusty 
and dirty, with white, strained face, drew rein. 

There was an instant’s suspense, then the captain 
gasped out, “Is she found, Sergeant?” 

“No, sir,” replied the man slowly; then added, with 
a wild burst of grief, “O sir! I found the prints of 
little feet by the big pond, sir.” 

A piercing shriek interrupted them, and the captain 
rushed indoors just in time to catch his fainting 
wife. 

Calling to the servants, he rushed upstairs to get 
the smelling-salts; half-crazed with the thought of the 
sergeant’s terrible suspicions, he hardly knew what he 
was doing. 

He rushed into the bedroom, and there on the floor 
at the foot of the bed stood the bottle of salts, a 
powder box, with most of its contents spilled on the 
carpet, and peeping out from under the bed was a 
rather shapely little toe. For a second the captain’s 
heart seemed to stop beating, then, with a wild cry 


1 3 o 


HO W POLL Y WAS LOST. 


of heartfelt joy, he stooped and from under the bed 
lifted Polly, awakening her from a sound nap. 

Without a word he carried her down and placed her 
in her mother’s arms ; then, great, strong man that he 
was, he broke down and sobbed like a child. 

“ Mary, Mary, I have brought you back your baby? ” 
he cried. 

When Polly found that the whole garrison had been 
out looking for her, she felt very important; but asked 
rather scornfully, “Why zey didn’t look under ze bed 
fust.” 


CAPTAIN DWYER’S EXPERIMENT. 


IT was early morning, and yet already the intense 
* heat of the August sun seemed to turn into a sea of 
molten sand the vast, treeless plain, over which a troop 
of cavalry was slowly riding. Both horses and men 
presented a jaded appearance, as if they had ridden far 
and fast, which in fact they had, being a scouting party 
sent out from the main command to intercept a small 
band of Apaches who had gotten away from the agency, 
intending to join Geronimo in his mountain fastness; 
they had been hot on the trail of the renegades all 
night and Lieutenant Dwyer had pushed them to the 
utmost. The trail had been growing less and less dis- 
tinct, when, halting his troopers, the young officer 
slowly swept the horizon with his powerful field-glass. 
Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and giving a quick 
order to his men, spurred his weary horse across the 
level plain in the direction of what appeared to be a 
dark blot against the horizon, but which soon resolved 
itself into half a dozen large “tepees.” The smoking 
embers of the grease-wood fire, the natural fuel of 


132 


CAPTAIN DWYER'S EXPERIMENT 


Arizona, showed that the camp could not have been 
long deserted. 

Ordering a halt, Mr. Dwyer commanded the tepees 
to be burned. Just then a faint wailing cry from the 
tent nearest him caught his ear. In a moment he had 
jumped from his horse and, pushing back the long skin 
flap which did duty as a door to this savage dwelling, 
he saw lying on the ground, wrapped in a gorgeous but 
dirty Mojave blanket, a fine-looking boy papoose about 
six months old, evidently forgotten by his own people 
in their hurried departure. 

There was no time” to deliberate, for already the 
soldiers had fired the camp, and there was no time to 
be lost if they desired to catch up with the runaways ; 
so, hastily snatching up the child, Mr. Dwyer, with two 
or three strips of rawhide, tied the poor baby to the 
pommel of his saddle, and in a moment more the troop 
were off in pursuit of the enemy, whose trail, leading 
directly south, could be seen now very distinctly. But 
Mr. Dwyer saw plainly that for this time at least the 
Indians had escaped him. 

The foaming sides and labored breathing of the 
horses showed they could keep up their furious pace no 
longer; so, when they reached the top of a slight rise 
of ground, and the field-glass showed no sign of the 
dusky foe, Mr. Dwyer, with a sigh, gave up the chase 
and ordered the troop to halt and dismount. 

Meantime the little Apache had been screaming at 
the top of a remarkably powerful pair of lungs, and his 


CAPTAIN DWYER'S EXPERIMENT. 


133 


captor was in despair as to what he should do for him. 
Being a bachelor not long from West Point, he had had 
no experience with children whatever. 

“ Poor little chap, it is rather hard lines on you — 
hush, hush, do ! ” But this appeal to the small squalling 
specimen of humanity had no effect ; so, turning to his 
first sergeant, a grizzly old soldier who had plenty of 
youngsters of his own, Mr. Dwyer asked: “ Here, Ser- 
geant Hayes, can’t you suggest something to stop this 
small Apache’s howls? ” 

“I think, sir,” replied the sergeant, smiling broadly, 
“ that perhaps the baby is hungry.” 

“Well, we’ll feed him, then,” returned the young 
officer briskly. 

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant; “but what will we 
feed him on? We ain’t got nothin’ but field rations, 
bacon and hard tack.” 

“ Oh, well! we cannot have the child starve on our 
hands. Soften a bit of the hard-tack in water and feed 
him ; and I remember my old black mammy used to 
give the younger children a piece of bacon fat to chew 
on, so we can try that.” 

This rough fare seemed to suit the little stranger re- 
markably well ; and when in the cool of the evening 
the troop started on its return march, the small Apache 
seemed to enjoy thoroughly his precarious position on 
Mr. Dwyer’s saddle. 

The ladies of Fort Chihuahua were very much 
amused, on the return of the scouting expedition, to 


134 CAP TAIN DW YER ’ S EXPERIMENT 

find that one small Apache baby was the extent of the 
capture, and many were the teasing remarks and sly 
jokes Mr. Dwyer had to stand on his bravery in actually 
capturing, alone and unaided , a full-sized , fierce Apache 
— baby. 

The first time Father Dyson came to say Mass at 
the Post Mr. Dwyer had his protege christened, giving 
him in full his father’s name of John Laurence Dwyer. 
After a serious and somewhat protracted talk with the 
good priest, Mr. Dwyer announced that he had de- 
cided to take upon himself the care of the child. 

When little John was about two years old Mr. Dwyer 
married, and from that time the child was taken into 
his benefactor’s home and looked upon as one of the 
family. 

And not even when a son and heir and two little 
golden-haired daughters came, did John lose in the 
slightest the warm affection of his adopted father and 
mother. 

As for little Dick junior, and Gertrude, and Madge 
the baby, they simply adored John; for wasn’t he the 
bravest, strongest, dearest brother in all the world? 
****** 

Mr., or rather Captain Dwyer, as he was now, for 
twelve years had passed since that August day when 
the Apache baby had been rescued and found a happy 
home, had from the first told John his true history, 
deeming it best that the boy should learn the truth from 
those he loved and trusted, than in later years have 


CAPTA/JV D WYER >S EXPERIMENT. 135 

it come from strangers' lips ; so the story of Captain 
Dwyer’s first campaign was a favorite one, told in the 
twilight by the nursery fire, and John, with baby Madge 
on his knees and Gertrude’s plump arms around his 
neck, and Jack squeezing his hand with boyish energy 
and sympathy, did not allow the bitterness of the past 
to shadow his happy present life. 

There had been plenty of people to shake their 
heads over “ Dwyer’s experiment,” but the boy had 
turned out to be such a fine, manly little fellow that 
even the most doubting agreed that it had been a suc- 
cess. 

John attended the post school with the other chil- 
dren of the garrison, and was quick and intelligent 
beyond his years. His one fault, and a very grave 
one it was, was his violent temper, which once aroused 
seemed almost beyond his control. 

But as both Father Dyson and Captain Dwyer con- 
sidered this as a direct inheritance of his savage ances- 
try they were doubly patient with the boy, who, under 
their wise and kind forbearance, had gotten his savage 
temper so far under control that it was the rarest 
occurrence for him to lose it. 

The last time it had happened Father Dyson, to pun- 
ish and show John the sinfulness of his offence, had 
not permitted him to serve Mass. This had been a 
dreadful blow, for from a little fellow the child had 
shown a most devoted love to our Lord in the Blessed 
Sacrament. 


136 CAPTAIN DWYER >S EXPERIMENT . 

Almost a year had passed since then, and John, 
though often provoked, with a keen remembrance of 
the terrible deprivation that would surely await him if 
he gave vent to his anger, managed to control himself 
wonderfully. 

There was one member of the Dwyer family who 
had no love for the boy — the old nurse who had 
been with Mrs. Dwyer since her babyhood; she had 
never hesitated to show her repugnance to the little 
interloper as in her mind she always thought of 
John. 

Receiving no encouragement from her mistress in her 
unreasonable dislike, indeed being reproved for it, she 
had had to conceal her hatred, and in proportion as 
she had to suppress it the deadly sin had grown, until 
now the very sound of the boy’s free, careless, happy 
laugh was an irritation to her. 

****** 

John had been conscious all day that it would not take 
much to make old nurse’s smouldering wrath break out 
at him; if he had spoken to Captain or Mrs. Dwyer 
they would soon have settled the matter; but, boy- 
like, he could not bear to tattle, nor did he like to dis- 
tress them. 

About nine o’clock Captain and Mrs. Dwyer had 
gone over to the assembly room for the usual Friday 
night hop, leaving John in the sitting-room upstairs 
that opened off the nursery, they having given him per- 
mission to sit up and read for an hour that fascinating 


CAPTAIN DWYER'S EXPERIMENT. 


137 


story The Exiles of Siberia , that Father Dyson had 
given him on his last visit. 

They had been gone only a few moments when 
nurse entered the room, holding in her hand a small 
toy whip of Dick's. “Come, get out of here,” she 
said roughly; “ it’s time you were abed.” 

“ I have permission to sit up an hour longer, nurse,” 
answered John pleasantly. 

“ I don't believe it,” she said; “an injun would as 
lief lie as not; anyway I ain’t going to sit up for the 
likes of you any longer.” 

The hot blood rushed to the boy’s cheek; with a 
great effort at self-control he replied: “It’s true, 
nurse; mother (as he had been taught to call Mrs. 
Dwyer) gave me permission herself ; but if you are tired 
I will go as soon as I finish this chapter.” 

“You’ll go now,” cried the angry woman, seizing 
him by the arm and pulling him rudely from the chair. 

“You’d better leave me alone,” cried John hotly; 
“ I’ll stand your treatment of me no longer.” 

“You’d threaten me, would you?” said the woman 
furiously; “you little devil, I'll show you;” then lift- 
ing the small whip, she struck the boy viciously full in 
the face. 

In an instant all that long years of patient Christian 
training had done was swept away; the Indian nature, 
which resents to the death the insult of a blow, was 
aroused, and as the furious woman showered the blows 
upon the half-crazed boy, he seized the heavy brass 


138 CAPTAIN DW YEP * S EXPERIMEN T. 

lamp and threw it with all his strength straight at the 
head of his enemy; then, not waiting to see the effect 
of his deadly missile, he rushed from the house like a 
wild creature. 

The hop-room was a scene of gayety and enjoyment 
when suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, 
and then in an instant the dreaded fire-call was sounded. 

The gay scene broke up in the wildest confusion, the 
officers running to join their respective companies, 
which had already formed in response to the fire-call, 
the ladies not stopping for hats or wraps. 

Captain Dwyer uttered a cry of horror when he saw 
it was his own quarters burning, the fire having evi- 
dently gained great headway before it was discovered, 
for the house now was a mass of seething flames. 

“ My children are in that burning building,” cried 
the unhappy father; and, tearing off his coat, he tried 
to dash into the house. 

But many hands held him back, crying out that it 
would be certain death for any one to enter; they must 
wait till the water and ladders came. 

As Captain Dwyer struggled to break loose from the 
detaining hands that held him, a wild-eyed, horror- 
stricken little figure dashed through the crowd, and, 
before they could divine his purpose, had darted into 
the burning building. 

The captain, with a hasty movement, wrenched him- 
self free and rushed after John; but as he reached the 
door a burst of flame drove him back, and just then the 


CAPTAIN DWYER'S EXPERIMENT. 139 

stairs fell with a crash; it was only Indian fleetness 
and lightness of foot that had carried John up the burn- 
ing stairway in safety. 

With a despairing groan the distracted father fell 
back, calling loudly for the ladders. Mrs. Dwyer had 
mercifully lost consciousness during this terrible scene. 

A wild shout of delight rent the air, and a hundred 
eager hands ran up the long fire-ladder to the nursery 
window, where John appeared with the two little girls 
in his arms, and Dick clinging to his side. In an in- 
stant Captain Dwyer’s eager arms were outstretched to 
receive his darlings; not a moment was to be lost, for 
already the window-frame was on fire, the flames burn- 
ing madly as they reached the air ; the heavy stream of 
water was played around the children, but seemed 
almost to feed instead of check the flames. 

Captain Dwyer rapidly passed the little ones down 
the ladder, and they were soon clasped safely in their 
mother’s arms. 

“ Come, John; come, my brave son,” cried the cap- 
tain. But, with a sad smile and a mute entreaty for 
pardon, the boy disappeared. With a cry of horror 
Captain Dwyer jumped through the window, and pres- 
ently they both appeared carrying with them the uncon- 
scious form of the old nurse. 

She was gotten in safety to the ground, and Captain 
Dwyer, standing on the top rung of the ladder, turned 
to take John in his arms — for the little hero was so 
badly burned as to be unable to assist himself^-when 


140 


CAPTAIN DW YER 1 S EXPERIMEN T. 


with a crash the floor and front of the building gave way, 
carrying with it the boy who had risked all to atone for 
his terrible fault. A groan of horror went up, but a dozen 
brave volunteers rushed into the burning ruins, and poor 
John, so dreadfully burned as to be hardly recognizable, 
was laid in the grateful arms of his adopted mother. 

The old nurse and the three children had not been 
even singed, but had been stupefied by the smoke ; in 
fact the heavy lamp had stunned the nurse, who remem- 
bered nothing until the fresh air revived her. 

With many tears and bitter laments she confessed 
her share in the accident, and during all the long weeks 
when John was raving in delirium no one waited and 
tended on him more tenderly than old nurse. 

In the very first moments of returning consciousness 
John would have confessed his sin with bitter self- 
reproach, but Captain Dwyer, leaning over him gently, 
said softly: “ Never mind now, my son; we know all 
about it, and all is forgiven.” 

And Mrs. Dwyer had kissed him fervently, whispering : 
“ O John! we are so proud of our boy; how can I ever 
repay you for saving my darlings? You must hurry and 
get well, my dear son ; we cannot spare you any longer.” 
****** 

Several years have passed since that dreadful night, 
and John is now an ecclesiastic and is even more noted 
for his sweet, gentle disposition than for his keen and 
brilliant intellect, which he intends to devote to God’s 
service as a missionary amongst his own people. 


PATSY’S PUDDINGS AND PIES. 


“AND so they lived happy ever after, and always 
** had puddins and pies for dinner,” concluded 
Maggie, impressively. 

“I’m thinking, Maggie, it’s only in fairy stories 
they’d be havin' of them every day,” remarked Patsy 
wistfully. 

“ Not a bit of it, Pat, me man, it’s the rich folks as 
is the fairies these days; money is a deal better than a 
wishin* ring or a wand; the rich can have puddins 
three times a day, and pies, too, if they want ’em. 
And they kin ate ’em, too, without a thought of the 
poor next door starvin’ for the want of bread ; ” the 
girl spoke bitterly, and involuntarily her eyes glanced 
through the open kitchen window at the mansion which 
reared its stately pile of gray stone so near the Widow 
O’Brien’s little shanty that the two back fences touched ; 
— but just then the baby woke cross and fretful and 
Maggie, taking the crying little one tenderly in her 
strong young arms, began pacing the floor and singing 
softly and soothingly a favorite air, “ Mary the Star of 
the Sea.” 


142 


PA TSY’S PUDDINGS AND PIES. 


In an instant Patsy had joined in with such a sweet 
clear voice, wonderfully strong for his age, that the 
sordid little room seemed quite transformed by the 
burst of melody that flooded it. 

“ Singing, my dears? that’s right; it’s a sweet welcome 
to me, for I am that tired, I feel as if I could drop.” 

Both the elder children, and even the baby, with a 
crow of delight, turned towards the door, where the 
poor, tired, frail-looking little mother stood smiling 
gently upon them — but with a sad look on her care- 
worn face, that made Maggie cry out apprehensively : 

“ Oh, mother! didn’t you get your money?” 

“No, darlin’, but I’m to have it sure to-morrow,” 
replied the poor woman, trying to be cheerful. 

“To-morrow, to-morrow,” cried Maggie with hot 
impatience; “in the meantime there’s nothing for 
supper but dry bread and tea.” 

“No puddins and pies to-night, Patsy,” continued 
the girl with a bitter little laugh — “unless Mrs. Van 
Corlor should send over her footman, and ask us to 
take dinner with her to-night.” 

Patsy’s big, beautiful Irish gray eyes opened wider 
than ever at this delightful suggestion. 

“The bootiful lady dat lives back of us?” he ex- 
claimed; “ she looks so good and sweet, I’m sure she 
would if she only knew.” 

“ Sister is only joking, little son,” said Mrs. O’Brien, 
but with a gentle look of reproach at Maggie, that 
made her color up, and say penitently : 


PA TSY'S PUDDINGS AND PIES. 143 

“Yes, it was only a joke, Pat dear; never mind, 
bread and tea, with love and good will instead of butter 
and sugar, tastes every bit as good as puddins and 

pies without it ” and Maggie smiled cheerily, her 

fit of bad temper quite over and forgotten. 

But Maggie’s jesting remark had made a deep im- 
pression upon Patsy’s little mind, and long after the 
Rosary had been said, the evening hymn sung, and the 
little fellow tucked away for the night, he kept wonder- 
ing if Mrs. Van Corlor would not send over the foot- 
man and ask them all to dinner if only she knew how 
very poor they were, how hard both mother and Maggie 
had to work. 

And Patsy fell asleep to dream that the big footman, 
whose head seemed to be made of plum-pudding, with 
his eyes of pie, had just given a tremendous knock at 
their humble door, when he felt Maggie shake him, 
and heard her say, “Patsy, Patsy! whatever is the 
matter with you; stop talking in your sleep.” 

****** 

Mrs. O’Brien had had a hard struggle when her 
husband had died the year before, leaving her with 
Maggie, a pretty girl of fourteen ; little Pat, a beautiful, 
dreamy, old-fashioned child of six, who, with his refined 
face lit up by his beautiful eyes, and framed in a mass 
of chestnut curls, looked like a little prince in disguise, 
and last, but not least, the baby, whom they all adored 
and tried their best to spoil. 

Her husband had been one of the oldest sergeants 


144 PA TSY'S PUDDINGS AND PIES.] 

in the Thirtieth Infantry, and so liked and respected 
was he by every one, that his family had enjoyed 
many privileges not given to other married soldiers 
in the post. Thus Maggie and Patsy had shared the 
same school advantages of the officer’s children, and 
they were unusually refined in manner, though their 
speech smacked of their mother’s pretty brogue. 

When Sergeant O’Brien died, the family had moved 
to San Francisco, and with the small pension they got 
from the Government, and the washing Mrs. O’Brien 
got, they managed to eke out an existence ; it was very 
hard work, for none of them were used to city ways. 

Poor little Patsy missed the freedom of garrison life 
particularly; he would run blocks at the sound of a 
band, thinking it might possibly be his beloved soldiers. 

He insisted upon calling the liveried coachman and 
footman of their grand though near neighbors, Judge 
and Mrs. Van Corlor, “ orderlies,” and always gravely 
saluted the gorgeous equipage as it dashed up to the 
stately mansion, though not once did any one notice 
him. 

****** 

As Mrs. Van Corlor, disgusted and bored with 
everything and everybody, perhaps most of all with 
herself, drove up to her door, she spied sitting on the 
stone carriage steps a quaint little figure in a pair of 
old brown overalls, much too big for him, with an old 
straw hat battered out of shape, perched above one of 
the most beautiful child’s faces she had ever seen. 


PATSY'S P UD DINGS A ND PIES. 145 

“Come you, get out here,” called the footman as he 
jumped out of the box and opened the carriage door 
in his most polite manner. “Quick now, git a move 
on ye,” he added roughly. 

“I won’t,” replied Patsy stoutly, fixing his big calm 
eyes on the man’s angry face. 

“Who is it, James?” asked Mrs. Van Corlor lan- 
guidly. 

“ Only a little beggar, mum.” 

“I’m not, I'm not,” cried the child hotly. “ I dest 
cum to ask the bootiful lady somefin.’ ” 

Perhaps the sincere childish compliment flattered the 
great lady, perhaps the beautiful little face with the big 
pathetic eyes appealed to Mrs. Van Corlor’s carefully 
hidden heart — but whatever it was, she smiled gra- 
ciously at Patsy and said : 

“What is it, child, what do you want to ask me?” 

Then a sudden thought seemed to strike her, she 
said: “ It is too warm to stand here in this hot sun; 
come inside, child. I shall not want the carriage again 
to-day, James, turning to the footman, who could 
hardly believe his eyes at the sight before him — the 
haughty Mrs. Van Corlor, mounting her front steps, 
hand in hand with a beggar brat. 

Mrs. Van Corlor was a little surprised herself, but 
with Patsy’s beautiful and admiring eyes fixed upon 
her, she could not refuse the little brown dirty hand 
that slipped so confidingly in hers. 

The butler who opened the door, the maid who came 


146 


PATSY'S PUDDINGS AND PIES. 


to take her mistress’ wraps, stared with unconcealed 
amazement at the ragged little stranger. 

But Mrs. Van Corlor treated her strange little visitor 
as if his presence was quite a matter of course. 

So when they were cozily seated in the cool darkened 
morning-room she asked : 

“ And now tell me, what is your name, child?” 

“Patrick Connor O’Brien, but mother and Maggie 
call me Patsy.” 

“ Then so will I,” said Mrs. Van Corlor, “ what did 
you want to ask me, Patsy? ” 

“ If you has puddins and pies every day? ” answered 
the child gravely. “ Maggie said you did.” 

Mrs. Van Corlor’s sweet, gay laugh which followed 
this extraordinary question, penetrated to the dining- 
room, where the old gray-headed butler was laying the 
cloth for dinner. He smiled as he heard it and mut- 
tered softly, “It do sound good to hear her laugh. I 
ain’t heared her laugh like that since little Harry died.” 

“Oh! Maggie said so, did she?” questioned Mrs. 
Van Corlor much interested. 

“Yes, an’ she said ’praps you’d ask us to have some, 
too, if you only knew that we had noffin’ but dry bread 
and tea; mother said Maggie was dest jokin’, but I 
fought I’d ask,” said Patsy eagerly. 

“ Well, Patsy, we do not have pies and puddings 
every day, still I am very fond of them, aren’t you? ” 

“ I dest loves ’em,” replied the child emphatically. 

“Very well, then, you shall stay and take dinner 


PATSY'S PUDDINGS AND PIES . 


147 

with me.” Then as the butler appeared in response to 
her touch of the bell, she ordered, “ Martin, tell cook 
to give us a pudding and a pie for dinner, and, Martin, 
lay an extra plate, I shall have a guest for to-night.” 

The afternoon passed like a dream to the enchanted 
child. Mrs. Van Corlor, quite amused, exerted herself 
to entertain her unexpected guest. 

She played to him on the magnificent grand piano, 
and sang to him ; then Patsy sang for her all the hymns 
he had learned from the good Sister when he went to 
school, and the quaint old Irish ditties he had learned 
from his mother, and neither of them gave one thought 
to the little household across the way which might be 
growing anxious at the long absence of the child ; Patsy, 
through sheer forgetfulness; as for Mrs. Van Corlor, 
if the thought did come to her, she dismissed it at 
once; the child amused her, he was really very bright 
and entertaining, and such people never worried about 
their children; it would be quite time enough to ex- 
plain Patsy’s absence when she sent him home. 

* * * * * * 

As Mrs. O’Brien reached home that evening, she 
saw Maggie with the baby in her arms racing up and 
down the street, crying, and calling “Patsy, Patsy!” 
For a moment the poor mother’s heart stood still; 
“ where was her darling ? ” 

“Oh, mother! can you forgive me?” cried the 
sobbing girl, “Patsy's lost." 

It soon transpired that Patsy had been missing since 


148 PATSY’S P UD DINGS A ND PIES. 

noon; Dennis Murphy had seen him going up the 
street about eleven o’clock, but since then no one had 
seen the child; the neighborhood had been searched 
in vain, and one of the men volunteered to go and 
report the child’s loss at the police station. 

Maggie with many sobs and tears, explained to her 
mother that Patsy had asked to play with the Murphy 
children, but when she went to call him in to dinner, 
he was nowhere to be seen, and Dennis Murphy de- 
clared that Patsy had only played with them a little 

while and had then gone up the street “ He was very 

quiet all mornm’,” Dennis had said, “and he seemed 
to be a thinkin’ of somefin’ awful hard.” 

Poor Mrs. O’Brien, this was a terrible blow; she 
did not shed a tear, but her face grew white and 
agonized; she gently tried to hush Maggie’s loud self- 
reproaches, and bowing her head in the baby’s golden 
curls she murmured a brief prayer for resignation and 
guidance. 

****** 

When Mr. Van Corlor let himself quietly in with 
his latch-key, hurrying a little for he knew he was late 
for dinner, he paused quite overcome with astonish- 
ment at the unusual sounds issuing from the dining- 
room ; first his wife’s sweet gay laugh rang out, as he 
had not heard it since their little son’s death, then a 
child’s voice eager and excited, exclaimed something. 

As Mr. Van Corlor pushed aside the heavy portieres 
that hung over the dining-room door, his wife saw him. 


PATSY'S PUDDINGS AND PIES. 


149 


“Oh! John, is it you? Patsy was so hungry, we 
really couldn’t wait for you,” she said calmly. 

“ Oh, indeed! ” said Mr. Van Corlor, a little blankly, 
then smiling he went on, “ if you and Patsy will excuse 
me for a moment while I make a hasty toilet, I will 
join you.” 

In a few words Mrs. Van Corlor explained the child’s 
presence at the table, and her husband was quite as 
amused as she was at the quaint little fellow. 

Patsy had just finished his first help of pudding, 
and was debating between another help of that, or a 
piece of delicious pie, when Mr. Van Corlor remarked: 

“There is great excitement in the neighborhood; a 
child from one of those cottages in our rear is lost; 
indeed, as I came by, the men, under the direction of 
the police, were dragging that stagnant pond in those 
vacant fields opposite. The mother of the lost child 
was perfectly quiet in her despairing grief, but the 
sister’s cries were simply heartrending. I stopped to 
see if I could be of use; that accounts for my delay.” 

Patsy’s eyes had been growing bigger and bigger at 
every word, and as Mr. Van Corlor finished, he burst 
out into a loud wail : 

“Oh, oh! it’s me that’s lost! Oh! I want mother 
and Maggie.” 

Just at that instant there was a loud peal at the 
front door, an excited voice was heard asking some- 
thing, and Maggie, her eyes red and swollen from long 
weeping, her voice weak with emotion, burst into the 


150 PA TS Y’S P UDDINGS AND PIES. 

handsome orderly dining-room like a small cyclone 

“Oh, Patsy, Patsy! is it you?” she cried wildly, 
“Oh, mother, I’ve found him! ” then thoroughly over- 
come, poor Maggie fell in a dead faint, right at the 
feet of the elegant Mrs. Van Corlor. 

* * * * * * 

From that day a new and happy life opened to the 
widow and her children. The Van Corlors, both 
husband and wife, became greatly interested in Patsy ; 
they would have been glad to have adopted the child, 
but as Mrs. O’Brien would not consent to this, they 
undertook his education, and he soon came to be 
looked upon as a son of the house. 

A pleasant and remunerative occupation was found 
for Mrs. O’Brien ; Maggie was sent as a boarder to a 
convent, and the gift of a pretty little cottage just 
across the way from the Van Corlor mansion, was 
one of the first things Mr. Van Corlor insisted upon. 

If they could not legally adopt little Pat, they would 
do all they could for him ; and being rich and childless, 
there was nothing to interfere. 

Pat grew up to be the pride and joy of both the 
little cottage across the way, and the stately mansion 
where his adopted parents lived. 

With the ardent affection of his strong and loving 
young heart, the little child had repaid his benefactors 
for their generous kindness to him. 

But he never lost his ardent love for the army, so 
when he was old enough, his adopted father, Judge 


PA TSY’S PUDDINGS AND PIES , . I$i 

Van Corlor, procured for the lad an appointment to 
West Point. The joy and pride of the two mothers 
in their young cadet when he came home on his second- 
class furlough, was pleasant to witness. 

And when two years later young Cadet O’Brien 
graduated at the head of his class, the entire family 
went east to do honor to the great occasion. General 
Sherman made the speech to the graduates that year, 
and although he did not know it, his most enthusi- 
astic listener was a dear little, white-haired, rosy- 
cheeked woman, who sat on a very front seat, and 
who kept saying excitedly but incoherently: 

“To think of the gineral, God bless him! And 
Patsy, too, my little Patsy, it’s just all too wonderful, 
entoirly.” 

Judging from the looks of fond pride and love cast 
upon the blushing young graduate by his mother and 
sister, and his adopted parents, no one could doubt 
but that little Patsy’s search for “ Puddings and Pies” 
had resulted in real happiness for all concerned. 



THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 



RDERLY, my compliments to the quartermaster, 


and say to him that Major Brand will leave to- 
morrow at six sharp.” 

‘‘Yes; sir,” replies the trim young soldier with a 
quick salute, then hurries off to do the colonel’s bid- 
ding. 

“So, father, we get off at six, do we?” says Jack, 
Colonel Wilson’s son, who has overheard his father’s 
directions. “Well, then, I must hurry up Jerry and 
see if our field outfit is in trim.” 

“You have your mother’s consent, then, to this 
expedition?” replied his father. “I’m glad to hear 
it. I fancy you may get some fair chicken shooting. 
I’ve told Jerry to take my mess chest. The old fellow 
will fix you up comfortably. 

“And see here, Jack, don’t mention the amount the 
Major carries with him this time; twenty thousand 
dollars would be a big temptation to many a needy 
devil. Never, since I have been in command here, has 
it been necessary for the paymaster to carry so much 
money; but I believe the major pays the 12th Cavalry 


154 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


at Fort Borrowe en route to Texas. That shabby old 
brown bag that the Major never lets out of his sight 
holds a small fortune; so be a bit careful, my boy.” 

“Yes, father,” answers Jack, but he thinks to him- 
self that it would take a good many stage robbers to 
hold up the escort that is to ride to Fort Borrowe with 
Major Brand. Ten cavalry men, crack shots all of 
them, he considers equal to fifty desperadoes. 

Jack Wilson was a fine manly fellow of seventeen, 
an only child, yet thoroughly unspoiled; bold and 
fearless in the saddle, he was a magnificent rider, a 
good shot, and in fact was a good all-round athlete, 
as well as an excellent scholar. 

“A thorough army boy, Jack is,” the colonel was 
wont to say; “ he was born in a tent, and his first and 
only cradle was a champagne basket, hastily emptied 
by the ‘Bachelor’s Mess’ in honor of the occasion.” 

Jack had been studying hard all summer, for in 
September he was to enter West Point, where he hoped 
to become, in due time, as good a soldier as his father. 

Colonel Wilson had been anxious to have him go 
with Major Brand on his pay trip to Fort Borrowe, 
and back, thinking the trip would do him good, but 
Mrs. Wilson, mother-like, had been a little unwilling; 
it was a rough country, the stage had been held up 
twice, the cattlemen had complained of horse stealing, 
and threats of lynching were freely made if only the 
wrong doers were caught, but so far they had defied 
detection. 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


155 


Mrs. Wilson had finally consented, trying to laugh 
at her own fears, and unwilling to spoil Jack’s pleasure. 
After leaving his father, Jack darted off to the stables 
to see to his horse. 

“Kitty,” was the pride ot his heart, a beautiful little 
bay mare, his mother’s last birthday gift; he had named 
her after his best friend, pretty Kitty Post, who had 
been his chum and comrade, ever since they were wee 
tots stationed down in Texas. As he marched down 
the line in front of the officers’ quarters, whistling 
cheerfully, but slightly out of tune, “The girl I left 
behind me,” a gay young voice 'called out from behind 
the vines that shaded Captain Post’s quarters 

“ Where are you off to, Jack? From that suggestive 
tune you are trying to whistle, I fear I am to be left 
behind, I know you allude to me , for even though I 
am not ‘the pretty girl,’ yet I am the girl of the post, 
the sole and only one. ” 

“Certainly I mean you, Kitty,” says Master Jack, 
then he adds slyly, “of course I may kiss the pretty 
little girl, the girl I leave behind me.” 

“Jack you are getting very saucy,” cries the young 
girl blushing; “ West Point is just what you need.” 

“Well, you won’t have me much longer to tease you, 
Kitty, so don’t be cross; I am going up to Fort 
Borrowe with Major Brand ; we leave to-morrow morn- 
ing, too early for you to get up to see us off.” 

“Oh, what fun; I wish I could go, too!” cries Miss 
Kitty, “perhaps they will try and rob the paymaster; 


156 


THE LITTLE BRO WN BA G. 


you know it’s not two months since the valley stage 
was held up. And have you heard the news to day, 
about old Nancy the miser, who lives, you know, about 
ten miles out on the Fort Borrowe road?” 

“No, what is it?” cries Jack, very much interested. 

“Well, you know papa was * officer of the day* 
yesterday, and this morning at ‘ Reveille * the sergeant 
of the guard reported that a cowboy had just ridden 
in with the news of an outrageous attack upon the old 
woman ; papa interviewed him, and the man said that 
old Nancy had been found nearly dead, tied to a tree, 
and gagged; her story was that a gang of men, 
armed and masked, had ridden up to her at midnight, 
demanding her money; she refused, telling them she 
had nothing, when furious with her obstinacy, they 
tied her up, then searched the hut for the hidden 
treasure, but finding nothing, in a rage, they set fire 
to the house, and left the poor old thing tied up that 
way. She was not found until late the next day, and 
was nearly dead with the fright and exposure. Papa 
has gone down to the adjutant’s office now, to report 
the facts to your father. The men say they think it 
must be the work of ‘ Mother Mag’s gang ’ as they 
call them. At any rate all of these outrages have 
been done by a large party of men. You remember 
the stage-driver declared there must have been twenty 
men in the party that attacked him ; and it is rumored 
that they have a meeting-place over in the sand hills 
at old Mag’s store.” 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


*57 


“ If mother hears all this, she will never let me go,” 
Jack said disappointedly. “ Don’t you tell her, Kitty; 
if my father hears it all, and decides that I may go, 
it would only worry poor mother; not that I believe 
one half of it, or think there is the slightest danger 
for us.” 

‘*1 will do as you say, Jack, but I wish you were 

not going. I know you will say I am foolish but 

‘ I have a quare feeling in me bones,' as old Jerry says 
when he prophesies trouble.” 

“I say you are a little goose,” returns Jack lightly, 
and you think nothing of exposing poor Major Brand 
to this danger; it is a glorious day, too lovely to be 
wasted; run, put on your habit, and let us go for a 
ride.” 

* * * * * * 

It was a pretty sight that met Kitty’s eyes early the 
next morning, for, Master Jack to the contrary, she 
was up in good time to see the paymaster’s party set 
off on their journey. 

The big yellow ambulance or “Dougherty wagon” 
is drawn up in front of Col. Wilson’s quarters, and the 
driver had quite work enough to do to hold in his six 
mules which are impatient to be off. 

Just across the parade, in front of troop “K’s” 
quarters, the escort is ready ; it consists of ten smart 
young cavalrymen under a sergeant, all in fatigue 
uniforms, which gave them a look as if they meant 
business. 


i 5 8 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


Jack, on Kitty, is careering around wildly, impatient 
to be off. 

Just as the morning gun sounds, and the buglers 
commenced the first notes of reveille, Major Brand, 
followed by Col. and Mrs. Wilson, comes quickly out, 
with his precious bag in his hands; in another moment 
they are off, with Miss Kitty waving an excited fare- 
well to Jack, and the Colonel calling out, “Good-by, 
a pleasant trip to you.” 

****** 

They have traveled steadily all day with a two- 
hours’ halt, to rest the men and horses at noon ; and 
towards evening reached their first camp at “ The 
Water Holes,” a series of springs which form the source 
of “Wild Horse Creek.” 

“Within half an hour the camp is pitched, two big 
“Sibley” or conical tents, modeled from an Indian 
“tepee,” for the escort, and back of them the picket 
line for the horses. 

Major Brand has his tent, a big wall one, for Jack 
and himself, put up about three hundred yards further 
down the creek in a big clump of cotton-woods which 
throw a grateful shade. 

The tired horses have been watered and groomed, 
amongst them Kitty; the cook is busy over his big 
camp kettles, the welcome odor of boiling coffee 
floats through the still air. Jerry, Col. Wilson’s 
“striker,” is putting up the small camp mess- table 
and setting forth the tempting supper that Mr. 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


159 


Wilson has thoughtfully provided for Major Brand 
and Jack. 

And when, a few moments later, Jack and the Major 
having made serious inroads on their supply of good 
things, Jack exclaims with a sigh of thorough content- 
ment: “ Isn’t this jolly, Major? ” The Major answered 
with a hearty “yes.” 

“By the way, Major,” says Jack, “where is your 
clerk? This is the first time you have paid off without 
him ; it must be very inconvenient for you, and give you 
lots of work, too.” 

“ It is very inconvenient,” replies Major Brand, “ but 
at the last moment Mr. Dixon was delayed by serious 
illness in his family. I don’t like having the sole 
charge of all this money; it is a big nuisance, and I 
shall be more than glad to pay it all out safely.” 

“I tell you, Jack, this rusty little brown bag holds 
about all that is worth living for, to me, my commis- 
sion and my honor.” 

“ Don’t you think our tent is rather far off from the 
mess?” Jack says, a little impressed by Major Brand's 
seriousness. 

“ No, my boy, for the sentry’s post extends from 
the cook’s tent to our own. I gave the sergeant on 
guard to-night the order myself. I cannot sleep any 
too well in camp as it is, but if we were any nearer the 
picket line I shouldn’t get half a night’s sleep.” 

“ Of course I didn’t mean there was any real danger 
Major, but my mind has been full of these recent 


1 60 THE LITTLE BRO WN BA G. 

robberies. I fancy father told you of the reports 
brought in to the post ; he didn’t want mother to know 
for fear she would not let me go.” 

“Yes, I heard all about it,” says the Major, “and 
old Jerry here has been telling me fearful tales about 
the doings of this ‘ Mother Mag’s gang. ’ And now, 
Jack, if you have finished, call Jerry to clear away 
the remains. I shall smoke a pipe; I always use a 
pipe in the field, a cigar somehow never seems satisfy- 
ing; and then we’ll turn in pretty soon. I confess I 
am tired.” 

“So am I,” admits Jack; then he calls: “Jerry! 
Jerry!” but there is no answer. 

“Perhaps he is getting his own supper,” suggests 
the Major. 

“He is as deaf as a post,” Jack replies, “though 
you can never get him to acknowledge it, but perhaps 
I can make him see me if he can’t hear.” 

About fifty yards further down the creek stands a 
huge old stump, whose few remaining branches, covered 
with creeping vines, gives it a weird appearance in 
the semi-twilight. 

“There’s a capital signal station,” says Jack, laugh- 
ing, then with a quick run and jump he lands lightly 
on the top of the stump; but only for an instant does 
he remain so, then crushes through the rotten wood 
and disappears from view. 

“Bless me,” laughs Major Brand, “I had no idea 
it was hollow; it looked stout enough.” 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 161 

Then as Jack emerges breathless and dirty, he con- 
tinues: “It was easier getting in than out, wasn’t it, 
Jack?” 

“Never mind, here comes the sentry; I will send 
for Jerry by him. Here, sentry,” he calls to the ap- 
proaching soldier, “when you get back to camp, tell 
McGuire I want him at once.” 

“Very good, sir,” says the man, and soon Jerry 
appears, and quickly enough under his accustomed 
hands the tent is made ready for the night, the two 
field-cots are put up, the candles lighted, a few fresh 
sticks thrown on the fire, then Jerry, with a respectful 
good-night, vanishes. 

“I think I must have another pipe, Jack, so while 
I am smoking it tell me something of this Mother Mag. 
I suppose these stories are all pure romance?” 

“Well,” says Jack, slowly, “I’m not so sure of 
that, she really is a horrible looking old woman ; she 
looks quite capable of all the crimes imputed to her. 

“ She used to come into the post to get her stock of 
groceries and whiskey from the post-trader, but the 
last time she came in she got very drunk, and nearly 
frightened the life out of my mother who was out 
walking, when this old creature came hobbling after 
her, begging. Mother, of course, would not give her 
anything, so old Mag took after her with a big stick 
which she carries, and chased mother till within sight 
of the garrison, uttering threats and swearing horribly 
the whole time. The officer of the day happened to 


1 62 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


see it, and at once sent the guard and had her put off 
the ‘Reservation.’ 

“ My father forbade the trader selling her any more 
whiskey.” 

“ Quite right, too,” says the Major, indignantly, 
“It is whiskey that causes the most of the wickedness 
in this world.” 

“Well,” continues Jack, “she has never been near 
the post since, but we hear of her from time to time.” 

“If she will allow us to reach Fort Borrowe safely, 
Jack, I shan’t mind paying her a visit on our return,” 
says the Major in jest; “do you know where she 
lives? ” 

“Yes,” replies Jack, “it is back in the foot hills 
between here and White Bird Canon ; when Lieutenant 
Denham was out, last fall, with a hunting-party, one 
day they stumbled upon an old tumble-down, dilapidated 
building, half log, and half ‘dugout;” they knocked 
and pounded on the doors, but no one answered, when 
just as they were riding off, the door was opened a 
little, and they saw the hideous face of old Mag peer- 
ing at them.” 

“Well, Jack, that is a fine story for a camp fire, but 
I think we had better turn in, they sounded taps half 
an hour ago.” 

Another five minutes sees them snugly rolled up in 
their warm field blankets; the major with his little bag 
for a bedfellow, and with a drowsy good night they 
are soon asleep. * 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 163 

All is silent in the little camp, not a sound is to be 
heard save the measured tramp of the sentry walking 
his lonely post, and the occasional neighing of a rest- 
less horse. 

****** 

Just what it is that awakens the major he does not 
know, but he has a vague impression of a shout or 
scream, and obeying a sudden impulse, he steps to the 
door of his tent, and looks out; all is quiet; he listens 
a moment to hear the tread of the sentinel, but not even 
that sound meets his expectant ear. “ Perhaps the man 
is at the other end of his beat,” thinks the major, so he 
waits, giving the man ample time to reach him, but still 
no sentry ; then, like a flash something tells him that all 
is not right; in an instant he is by Jack’s side: 

‘ 1 J ack ! ” he cries, shaking the sleeping boy. 1 1 J ack ! ” 

‘ * Y es^sir, ” says J ack starting up, ‘ ‘ what’s the matter, 
Major?”’ 

“The sentry has left his post, or else gone to 
sleep. 

“ I won’t be gone a moment, but look after my bag, 
Jack. I must see to this.” 

“Yes, sir, replies Jack, sleepily. And then he 
dreams, such a curious dream too, he is standing in 
front of the old rotten stump which slowly changes 
into old Mag’s hideous features, and she commences 
to shake her stick at him, and then — yes! yes! she 
certainly is screaming hoarsely at him, “ Jack! Jack! ” 
and with a start Jack sprang to his feet to hear the 


164 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


sounds of wild shouting, firing, and then above all 
the din and wild confusion, he hears Major Brand 
call : 

“Jack! Jack! I am shot! Save the money if you 
can. Catch Kitty and ride for your life ! ” 

A strange sight meets Jack’s startled eyes; the little 
camp is a scene of the wildest confusion. The picket 
lin . has been cut and the horses are rushing wildly over 
the plains, maddened with fright. 

A band of ten or fifteen horsemen, with rifles ready 
for use, are drawn up around the little camp. 

This is all that the faint starlight has shown Jack in 
his moment’s pause at the open tent-fly. 

In an instant his shrill whistle rings out, and his 
little mare pauses on hearing that well-loved signal; 
for Jack has trained her to come to him at the sound 
of his voice or whistle. But only for a second does 
she stop; then the wild rush of the frightened horses 
carries her with them. 

The desperadoes had not counted upon Major Brand 
having a companion ; they knew that his clerk was not 
with him and had planned accordingly. But on hearing 
the major’s cry, they saw that someone was with him 
and at the quick command of their leader, five of the 
party started towards the major’s tent. 

Breathing a prayer to our Blessed Mother for help, 
Jack caught up the little bag and started off like a flash 
down the creek in the direction the stampeded horses 
had taken, hoping blindly that perhaps he would make 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


165 

Kitty hear his whistle and obey it; then, once on her 
back, he felt he was a match for any pony in the 
country, for Kitty was well known as the fastest horse 
around. 

Of course, the moment Jack emerged from the shadow 
of the tent he was seen and a rough voice shouted to 
him to halt. 

He paid no attention to this command save to 
increase his pace slightly. With his shoulders well 
forward, his head slightly lowered, his mouth close 
shut, and arms well in at his side Jack was running a 
race for a far more important prize than the handsome 
silver cup recently won at College. 

‘ ‘Halt ! or we’ll fire, ” called a rough voice with an oath. 

Jack was just abreast of the old stump, running 
easily and with every breath determining not to give 
up, when suddenly his foot caught on one of the par- 
tially exposed roots of the old stump; he was thrown 
violently against it, and involuntarily threw out his 
arms to break his fall ; when with a thud, so loud that 
Jack was sure his pursuers must hear it, the bag fell 
from his loosened grip, safely down in the middle of 
the hollow tree. 

The money safe in this queer hiding-place, like an 
inspiration came the thought to Jack, “If I can only 
fool them a little and make them think I still have the 
money, I shan’t care if they do catch me then.” 

So with a quick jump he recovered himself, and was 
off again like a deer. 


1 66 THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 

The trail made a sudden bend to the right there; on 
one side were the precipitous sides of the canon, on 
the other a thick growth of underbush. For a precious 
five seconds Jack was out of sight of his would-be 
captors, long enough for him to find a good hiding- 
place for the treasure among the masses of broken 
rock if he had needed to do so. 

Jack still ran on, but slower, as if exhausted; in a 
moment the outlaws had closed in on him, calling on 
him to throw up his hands and halt, for “ though he 
was only a kid,” as one of the men remarked he is “a 
blamed plucky one, and it’s best to be on the safe 
side.” 

“Where is the money?” demanded the foremost of 
the men, grasping Jack’s arm fiercely. 

“I will not tell you,” replied Jack quietly. 

“ Come now, no nonsense, you’ve dropped that 
money somewhere here, and the quicker you produce 
it the better for you; you’re a cool un, but Cap, he 
kin match you in that any day.” 

“ I will not give it to you,” says Jack again. 

“ Supposing I give you a taste of this,” said the man 
pointing to his revolver. 

“ If you kill me it won’t do you any good, for then 
you never will find it.” 

“With an oath the man calls to his followers: 

“Here, men, you look around sharp and see if you 
can’t find the swag amongst them rocks ; we ain’t got 
no time to waste, and we’ll settle with this young chap 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 167 

later on. Here, Bill, gag him and tie up his arms, and 
let him ride with you.” 

Grumbling and swearing, yet the men quickly obey 
his commands, but with no success in finding the 
money. 

At this moment three quick reports are heard and 
the leader calls out: 

“The danger signal, boys; fall in; forward march,” 
he commands with military brevity. And the little 
party dash up the divide in a quick run, with poor 
Jack bound and utterly helpless riding double with his 
captor, Bill. 

. In silence they ride for nearly an hour, when they 
reach a road that branches off abruptly to the right; 
and there, waiting for them, are fully twenty horsemen, 
evidently the rest of the gang. 

The leader of Jack’s small party rides up to the one 
whom they call Cap, and makes his report. 

The captain’s face grows dark and threatening as he 
learns of their ill success, and with a gesture of furious 
anger he turns to Jack. 

“Tell me what you have done with that money,” he 
demands fiercely. “This is no child’s play, .young 
man.” 

Poor Jack’s heart is beating like a trip-hammer, still 
he answers as firmly as ever: 

“ I will not tell.” 

The captain seems to make a quick decision, for 
turning to his men he gives a few unintelligible com- 


1 68 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


mands, whereupon the whole party leave the beaten 
track, and strike apparently blindly across the prairie. 

“ Bill,” says the leader, “I make you responsible 
for this young man; if he gets away you'll pay the 
penalty.” 

‘‘All right, Cap,” says Bill, “I guess I kin manage 
him, peart as he is.” 

“What’s your name, kid?” he continues, but as Jack 
makes no answer, he remembers that with his mouth 
stopped up with a big red bandanna it would be difficult 
for poor Jack to reply, so he relapses into silence and 
in this way they ride, hour after hour — the horizon 
turns from dull gray to pale pink, then flushes rosy 
red, as the summer sun comes slowly up over the not 
distant foot hills. 

The prairie breeze, sweet and fresh, with a faint 
smell of the sea blows softly against their faces. It is 
hard for jack to realize the real gravity of the situa- 
tion; the exciting scenes he has just passed through 
seem like a dream. 

And now they strike what seems a much traveled 
trail, which leads straight to one of the nearest hills, 
and Jack sees built against the side of it a long low 
rambling building, part fort, and part dugout, and 
instantly there flashes through his mind Mr. Denham’s 
description of old “Mag’s” den. He is right in his 
surmise, for as they draw rein, a villainous face appears 
at the door, and a voice croaks out hoarsely : 

“Is that you, boys? welcome home, my dears, 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 169 

there’s plenty to eat and drink ; but what’s that you’ve 
got? ” she asks suspiciously, seeing Jack. 

“ It’s all ‘ O. K.’, Mag,” says Cap shortly, “get us 
our feed quick, we’re dead tired, then we’ll decide what 
to do with the kid.” 

The room into which the men enter is almost bare 
of furniture and filthy beyond description, but is 
evidently the home of the entire party, thinks Jack, 
for quickly divesting themselves of hats and coats, 
they are soon engaged in eating and drinking. 

As soon as the rude repast is finished, the leader 
calls old Mag to one side, and tells her of the partial 
failure of their plans. 

The old hag’s face grows even more hideous with 
rage, as she hear’s of Jack’s success in defeating the 
outlaw’s raid. 

Shaking her stick furiously at Jack, she shrieks out: 

“What a little beauty he is! what a brave little 
man ; but leave him to me, old Mag will soon coax him 
to tell. I’ll be so gentle with him, so sweet to him.” 

Jack, faint and tired leans wearily against the sod 
walls, while Bill pulls out the gag and roughly cuts the 
rope that binds his stiff and aching arms. 

“Who are you, and what is your name?” says the 
Captain. 

“Iam Jack Wilson, son of Colonel Wilson, in com- 
mand of Fort Sedgewick.” 

“Oh, ho!” says the old hag, whose rage seems to 
increase, “ And ’twas your fine lady mother as had me 


170 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


turned out of the post like a dog; it’s old Mag’s turn 
now; leave him to me, my b’ys, I’ll make him tell, or 
I’ll leave him to starve and die.” 

As the woman ends her tirade, she pulls out a big 
iron ring hanging against the sod wall, and with the 
aid of two or three of the men, half the wall spins out, 
a rush of cold damp air fills the room ; old Mag grasping 
Jack fiercely, thrusts him into the cave, and quickly 
closes the door. 

The air is suffocating, and filled with evil odors ; and 
with a prayer for help, poor Jack falls to the ground, 
mercifully unconscious. 

How long he lies in this stupor he has no means of 
knowing, but he is finally aroused by the sound of old 
Mag’s voice. 

“Have you had enough yet, you young devil ?” she 
cried angrily, “will you come out now and tell us 
where you’ve hid the money?” 

“ No,” cries Jack, with fierce energy. 

Uttering vindictive oaths the woman places a loaf 
of bread and some water on the floor and again shuts 
Jack in. He devours the bread hungrily, and the water 
seems like nectar to his parched throat; with the food 
comes a renewed determination to hold out until help ar- 
rives, for well Jack knows that the news of the attempt- 
ed robbery and his own’daring capture will soon reach 
the garrison, and then he has no doubt as to the result. 

Kneeling down, the boy prays fervently and confi- 
dently for help. 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 171 

Slowly the hours pass, and Jack thinks it must be 
night, for he sees the gleam of the lamp light as the 
old woman once more opens his door. 

“Will you give in yet,’ she cries, “I could kill 
you,” she says furiously, and a murderous look gleams 
in her wicked eyes which, mercifully, Jack cannot see. 

“ Never,” says Jack faintly, but firmly. 

“ I’ll starve you out yet,” she says, “ sleep well, my 
pretty.” Jack cannot sleep, for huge rats chase around 
the foul den ; the air gets so close he feels in a half- 
fainting condition ; and so the slow hours pass, his brain 
is dazed; he cannot even pray except “ Oh, Jesus, save 
me! Mother, pray for me!” 

How long the time is, Jack does not know, but he is 
roused by hearing the door creak; when suddenly in 
the distance he hears loud shouts, then in another 
moment violent blows on the door of the hut, a sound 
of rapid firing, a wild confusion and din on the inside 
of the thieves’ abode. 

With a wild cry for help, Jack with supernatural 
strength dashes past the old woman who tries vainly 
to close the door of his hiding-place, just as the door 
of the hut gave way ; and he sees Lieut. Denham’s face 
peering eagerly into the room, while back of him are 
the gleaming rifles of half a hundred stalwart cavalry- 
men. 

As Jack rushes into the room, the leader of the 
gang, aiming his pistol at the boy, fires, crying out : 

“ He knows too much to leave here alive.” 


172 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


As Jack falls fainting to the floor, he sees dimly and 
just for an instant, a struggling mass of men ; and he 
hears his father’s voice, as if from a great distance, 
calling tenderly: 

“ Jack, my son, my dear boy!” and then — he feels 
he is safe, and floats away in utter unconsciousness. 

When Jack recovers he finds himself in the Red 
Cross Ambulance, which is only used for the sick and 
wounded; and his father and Dr. Terril, the post 
surgeon, are bending over him anxiously. 

“What is the matter ? ” he asks faintly. 

“ Oh, yes, I remember it all. Tell the major, I 
dropped the money in the old rotten stump, he 
knows ” gasped poor Jack, and he shudders. 

“All right, my son, don’t worry over the money,” 
replies his father, but he thinks Jack is still 
delirious. But Major Brand knows better, he sends 
Lieutenant Denham to bring in the treasure, which 
is none the worse for its stay in its queer hiding- 
place. 

“And you mustn’t talk,” says the doctor, “or we 
shall be having you in a high fever. I suspect it will 
come anyway,” he adds. 

And the doctor is right. 

For weeks Jack lays at death’s door ; in his delirium 
haunted always by the hideous face of old Mag, and 
calling wildly that he will never tell where he has 
hidden the money. 

But finally, when the danger is over, Jack awakes; 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


73 


to find himself famous — nothing is talked of but his 
heroic conduct; his wonderful escape. 

As soon as he is strong enough, Jack hears that his 
faithful little horse, Kitty, had first given the alarm by 
galloping into the post, riderless and saddleless, and 
utterly spent with her mad run. 

How his father, taking alarm, sent out a small party 
to find out the meaning of it; how they had met the 
major and his band of dismounted cavalrymen, return- 
ing; Major Brand in a litter with a bad flesh wound in 
his leg. 

He hears how two large rescuing parties had been 
sent out to scour the country, his father accompany- 
ing Lieut. Denham, who had at once suggested old 
Mag’s hut as being a most likely place for a thieves’ 
rendezvous. 

He hears of the desperate fight between his rescuers 
and the desperadoes, who, finding themselves sur- 
rounded, had fought madly for a few moments; their 
leader, known to Jack simply as “Cap,” receiving a 
fatal wound. The others, with old Mag herself, over- 
powered, had been sent under a strong guard to the 
State prison to await their trials, for attempting murder 
and highway robbery. 

And amongst the gang was the faithless sentry; a 
deserter from some other regiment, and in league with 
the thieves, without whose assistance they never 
could have surprised Major Brand’s little camp as 
they did. 


174 


THE LITTLE BROWN BAG. 


In return Jack tells them of the curious hiding-place 
he had accidentally found for the money. 

And he is made very proud and happy over its sure 
return to Major Brand. 

But Jack does not learn until long, long afterwards 
the full horrors of that murderous den ; of whitening 
bones, and the murdered body of an unfortunate miner. 

He finds his slow recovery not so very disagreeable ; 
with a loving mother to attend to every wish; with 
pretty Miss Kitty to read and amuse the invalid for as 
long as he deigns to be interested. 

Then every day his faithful horse, with her coat 
shining like satin under Jerry’s proud care, is paraded 
up and down in the front of the big veranda where 
Jack reclines in state. And Jack calls and whistles to 
his pretty and faithful friend until her soft eyes glow 
with excitement, and the dainty ears stand up straight 
listening to her master’s fond praises. 

And Major Brand cannot do enough for the boy, 
who risked his life to save his honor and fortune. 


JACK’S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 


COR a whole day after the order was issued for the 
gallant Thirtieth Foot to make its usual summer 
practice march, Mrs. Miller and Jack”were known to be 
planning something quite delightful; even Polly was 
not in the secret, but did not feel quite so injured when 
she found papa was not either. 

Right after guard mounting, Jack walked down to 
the colonel’s quarters, and rang the bell. 

“Is the colonel in?” he inquired of the waitress. 

“Yes, Jack,” called Mrs. Wood’s voice from the 
dining-room, “come right out here, dear; we are very 
lazy folks this morning, as you see; won’t you sit down 
and have some waffles ? ” 

“Thank you, I’d like to, but I weally don’t believe 
I tould hold ’em,” sighing regretfully. 

“Eaten ‘quite up to your belt,’ eh?” laughed Col. 
Wood, for Polly's funny idea of restraining her appetite 
was a regimental joke by this time. Jack flushed up 
a little, for no little boy enjoys being laughed at, even 
by a colonel. 


176 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN . 


“ If you’ll ’scuse me, Colonel, I’ll dest wait till you 
finish breakfus’, for I want to see you on 'jicial busi- 
ness,” Jack concluded very importantly. 

“Bless the child,” said the Colonel, still very much 
amused, “we will go into my office, Jack; that’s where 
I transact all my business.” 

Col. Wood was very fond of the quaint little fellow, 
and they were often to be seen pacing side by side up 
and down the shaded path that bordered the big parade 
ground, discussing the various happenings of the day. 

Jack had never been away from an army post until 
he was quite a big boy, when he had gone on a long 
visit to grandma, in Washington. 

Before his contact with the civil life outside of his 
army home, his childish mind associated the idea of 
respectability with the familiar uniform. The only 
civilians the little fellow had seen had been rather poor 
specimens — ragged, dirty men, whom nurse called 
“tramps;” and Jack had been told over and over 
again that a tramp was always to be avoided, and 
never spoken to under any circumstances. 

To illustrate Jack’s childish belief, Col. Wood is 
never tired of telling this story on the boy. 

One day when a large hunting party, eastern friends 
of the colonel’s, made their way to Fort Winston, 
looking, to be sure, a little rough after their long 
absence from all civilization, Master Jack was sur- 
prised and very indignant, to see his beloved colonel 
in friendly conversation with these, as he supposed, 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 


177 


tramps; so when the colonel, escorting his friends 
down the line in front of the officers’ quarters, stopped 
for a moment in front of Captain Miller’s to speak to 
his little friend and introduce him to his guests, Jack 
drew himself up and said in what was meant to be a 
whisper, but was quite loud enough to be heard, not 
only by the entire party, but by his horrified mother, 
who sat on the front porch reading, “I isn’t allowed 
to talk to tramps .” The shout of laughter that greeted 
this withering reply, did not do much to appease the 
little man’s indignation, so he added this time without 
any pretense of whispering: “And I dest think you'd 
ought to be ashamed of yourself, too.” 

Here Mrs. Miller rushed to the rescue, but the 
gentlemen were so much amused at Jack’s sweeping 
condemnation that they would not listen to apologies, 
and before they left the post, they and Jack had 
become the best of friends, and the child realized that 
there might be some civilians not tramps. 

“Now, Jack, what is it? Make your application 
now,” said the Colonel, lighting his cigar and seating 
himself in a very business-like manner at his desk. 

Jack had not seated himself, but stood stiffly at 
“attention,” with his little fingers at the seam of his 
small knickerbockers. 

“Please, sir, I would like permission to go on the 
practice march.” 

“Oh, ho!” says the Colonel. “Well, my boy, I’ve 
no objections, if your papa has none.” 


i 7 8 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 


“Oh! but that isn’t it at all, Colonel,” exclaimed 
Jack eagerly, in his excitement quite forgetting his 
soldierly attitude. 

“I want your 'ficial permission, ’cause then you see 
when I get tired I can ride in the ambulance.” 

“ Let me see; how old are you, Jack ?” 

“Six, and I’m very big for my age,” replies the child 
promptly. 

“Very good, then, Mr. Jack Miller, you have my 
permission to march with my regiment and to use the 
ambulance whenever the necessities of the case require 
it. Of course you will march in uniform, and you may 
report at once to Captain Miller for duty. 

“Orderly,” says the Colonel, stepping out on the 
porch, with Jack close at his heels, “give my compli- 
ments to Captain Miller, and say to him that I have 
given this young gentleman permission to accompany 
the regiment on the practice march.” 

“Yes, sir,” replies the orderly, saluting, then turning 
with a grin to Jack he says: “ Come on, young fellow, 
I must take you over to the captain’s at once ; them’s 
the colonel’s orders.” 

And Jack feeling very important at the colonel’s 
strictly official manners, steps out and marches over 
to the company, trying his best to keep time with 
Maloney's six-foot stride. After a short interview 
with his father, Jack rushes to tell his mother of the 
success of his mission, and to consult with her about 
his uniform, and is quite satisfied when mamma tells 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 


179 


him that all shall be in readiness this day week, when 
the command is to march. 

****** 

At six o’clock of the eventful day Jack is up, dressed 
and ready to start, for the troops are to leave at seven, 
sharp ; a very brave and gay little figure he looks, too, 
in his uniform of mamma’s contrivance. His own little 
dark blue trousers serve quite well, their brevity being 
quite hidden beneath the regulation yellow duck leg- 
gings, manufactured out of an old pair of his papa’s. 

His coat is cut after the regulation blouse pattern, 
with brass buttons and all, and when the heat will 
cause this very military garment to seem a bit uncom- 
fortable, Jack is quite prepared to throw it off, having on 
a blue flannel field shirt just like the rest of the soldiers 
wear, and around his throat is knotted a gay red scarf ; 
he wears a uniform cap with a big brass “ 30,” with the 
crossed rifles and the letter “ G,” that being Captain 
Miller’s company. 

Swung over his shoulder is his haversack and can- 
teen, both numbered and lettered “Co. G, 30,” with 
his own initials beneath, “ J. N. M.” (John Nicholas 
Miller). 

The early morning sun is shining brightly; the 
buglers are blowing assembly; the ladies and^ children 
are gathered in front of Col. Wood’s quarters to wave 
farewell to the troops; officers are hurrying to their 
respective companies; and altogether the scene is so 
lively and fascinating, that Jack gives a little sigh of 


1S0 JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 

contentment and says: * 4 Mamma, I do like being an 
army boy, it is so excitin’.*’ 

The adjutant and the sergeant-major take their 
places; the band strikes up a lively quickstep; the 
line is soon formed and the colonel on his big black 
horse, “Nig,” takes command, and presently the 
command is off on their two-hundred-mile march, with 
the band playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” 

As they turn in at the end of the parade ground, 
and march down the “line,” the colonel gives the 
command “At ease,” which means that the men may 
march and carry their guns as they please ; then it is 
that Jack proudly steps into line, alongside of his 
father, for a four weeks’ walk across the plains. 

Jack was a very tired little boy at the end of the 
first day’s march, and each little toe had a big blister 
on it, and when he knelt down by the side of his own 
little camp-cot, made especially for him by the com- 
pany carpenter, to say the one decade of the beads 
which mamma, Polly, and he were accustomed to recite 
together every night before he reaches the 4 4 Glory be 
to the Father,” he fell fast asleep, and there, a few 
moments later, Captain Miller found him. 

44 Poor little chap,” he says tenderly, tucking the 
weary little figure up in his blankets, for the warm 
evenings grew very chilly on the open prairie, as the 
night breeze springs up. 

And perhaps it is the example of his little son, but at 
any rate Captain Miller kneels beside his sleeping child. 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 181 

Jack grows stronger and sturdier every day; he is 
as brown as an Indian, and scorns the very idea of 
blistered feet. 

One day when they had gone into camp rather earlier 
than usual, Sergeant Murray proposes that he and 
Jack go “ chicken ” shooting; a prairie chicken belongs 
to the pheasant (amily, and is just as delicious eating. 
Taking the company shot gun, they strike across the 
plains to where the sage brush and grease wood grow 
quite thickly, for there they will be sure to find some 
game, says Sergeant Murray. 

Sure enough as they approach the very first clump 
of brush, the sergeant motions Jack to move quietly, 
and points out the head of a chicken peeping out. 

Jack is trembling with excitement, but follows the 
sergeant’s directions very carefully 

“I’ll hold the gun, Jack,” he whispers; “you aim 
for his head and when I say three ! pull the trigger, 
and you’ll have him dead, sure.” 

Their plan is eminently successful and Jack returns 
to camp bearing proudly the result of his skill. 

It is rather odd that they should have found just 
this one bird and that he should be so obligingly still, 
too, and that the shot should have been in his side and 
not in the head. 

But perhaps “G” company’s having a regular 
chicken supper that evening had something to do with 
Jack’s good luck. I think Sergeant Murray could 
have explained it if he only would, but none of these 


182 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 


doubts disturbed the young hunter, who proudly carried 
his one fat bird to Colonel Wood’s tent and handing 
it to the orderly, tells him to give it to the Colonel, 
“with my compliments,” he had added, remembering 
the invariable formula of military courtesy. 

Presently Col. Wood comes himself to thank Jack, 
and beg the pleasure of his company at dinner that 
evening. Another day they run across a traveling 
photographer and at the united request of “G” com- 
pany Jack has his picture taken in his full regimentals, 
leaning with careless ease on the famous company shot 
gun. To be sure the picture is rather marred by one 
hand being tied up in a rag, the result of a too sharp 
pocket-knife. Out of his bandaged hand rather a 
funny incident occurred some time after. 

Some months later Sergeant Murray having gone on 
a six months’ furlough to the “ old country ” is visiting 
an ancient aunt of his; the old lady has heard so many 
marvels of that wonderful land across the sea, that 
nothing is too much for her to credit; so when her 
nephew produces Jack’s photograph she exclaims with 
delight at the “baby soldier.” 

“Sure, Dennis,” she asks, “and how did the poor 
purty innocent get hurt? ” 

“Faith! he was wounded in an Indian fight,” 
replies her wicked nephew unblushingly. 

Whereupon Mrs. O’Reilly cries out in mingled con- 
sternation and admiration : 

“What a country, where even the babies fight.” 


JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 183 

Finally comes the last days’ march, and about ten 
o’clock in the morning they reach the big bustling 
western town of Columbia, where they are to join the 
other Infantry regiments of that department, and go 
into camp for the summer field maneuvers. 

A very happy and proud little boy is Jack, as dirty, 
dusty and very tired, he marches with the regiment 
down the principal street of the town, past the big 
hotel where mamma and Polly are waving him an 
excited welcome, followed and envied by every small 
boy in the place. 

Not even the drum- major, who carries himself with 
such a very important air, excites half the interest 
Jack does. 

And when they break ranks on reaching their pleas- 
ant camping-ground, Jack finds himself the center of 
an enthusiastic and admiring crowd. It is the Colonel 
himself who calls Jack and introduces him to the 
Mayor, “as my youngest subaltern, Mr. Curry, and 
one of the best walkers in my regiment.” 

“I am pleased to meet you, Master Jack,” responds 
the great man of the town, “and I hope you will give 
us the pleasure of your company at the banquet we are 
giving to the officers to-night.” 

Capt. Miller thanks the Mayor for his kind invita- 
tion, but declines for his little son, as the “banquet” 
will not begin until after his hour for bed. 

Just then Jack hears a dear voice calling, “What 
have you done with my boy, Col. Wood?” and then he 


1 84 JACK'S SUMMER CAMPAIGN. 

is clasped in mamma’s loving arms, while Polly dances 
wildly around him, squeezing his hand and talking as 
fast as her tongue can go. 

That night for the first time in several weeks 
Jack slips on a little white night-shirt, and cuddles up 
in mamma’s lap for a “ serus” talk as he calls it. 

He pours into her interested ears all the various 
incidents of his long tramp, and his many adventures, 
then finishes up with : 

“After all, mammy dear, I’m glad to be dest your 
own little boy once more. It was awful lonesome 
bein’ a soldier sometimes, ’ticularly at night. 

“ I — I — cried a lettle teenty tinty bit some nights,” 
he admits rather shamefacedly; “but I hided under 
the bedclothes so papa wouldn’t hear me. Anyway 
I walked just splendid, mamma; I hardly ever rided 
in the ambulance. I could, you know, 'cause I had 
the Col's 'ficial permission.” 

“My blessed baby,” replies mamma, hugging him 
tightly — “I don’t wonder you cried a bit. I suppose 
you wanted mamma and Polly. Papa is very proud of 
his little son; says you acted like a man the whole 
time — but come now, darling, Polly is fast asleep and 
you ought to be too, so shut your eyes and I will sing 
you to sleep.” And so safe in mamma’s arms, lulled 
by the dear voice, Jack is soon off to the land of nod, to 
travel over again in his dreams his four weeks’ march. 


HOW MARJORIE RAN AWAY. 


MARJORIE was a little army girl; she was born in 
* " * a frontier army garrison, had spent two years 
of her life there, when her papa was ordered east on 
special duty, and they all, papa, mamma, nurse Lizzie, 
and Marjorie herself, went to grandpapa Burton’s for 
a whole year. 

Besides grandmamma Burton and grandpapa, who 
was every bit as bad about humoring Miss Marjorie’s 
whims and fancies, there was a whole houseful of grown- 
up young aunts and uncles who did their best to spoil 
the little maid. Not that they meant to spoil her. 
O ! dear no, but they could not bear to say no, nor see 
the “ dear child ” cry, so Miss Marjorie soon discovered 
that to have her own sweet way, it was only necessary 
to weep a little and nothing was denied her. 

Mr. and Mrs. Irwine could only smile ruefully over 
this spoiling process of their little daughter, for any 
attempt at discipline created so much opposition among 
the grandparents, the aunts, and the uncles that Captain 
Irwine gave up. Once, after a very naughty piece of 
mischief, when Marjorie had with a pair of sharp 


1 86 


HOW MARJORIE RAN AWA Y. 


scissors cut to pieces one of the down pillows which 
adorned the lounge in the morning-room, Mrs. Irwine 
determined to punish the child. 

Shutting her bed-room door tight so as to drown 
as much as possible the sounds of woe from the victim, 
she proceeded to slap with a small ivory brush the 
mischievous hands. 

Hardly had the first slap descended upon the chubby 
little palms, when grandmamma’s voice was heard 
outside the door, in mingled reproof and indignation. 

“ Mary, you are surely not spanking that dear baby — 
I would rather lose a dozen cushions than have dear 
little Marjorie’s feelings hurt, and her high spirits 
crushed.” 

Marjorie’s wails, heart-breaking and loud, redoubled 
on hearing grandmamma’s expressions of opinion. 

“Mary, I beg of you as a favor not to punish the 
child any more ; remember your own childhood, Mary, 
for I never believed in corporal punishment.” 

Mrs. Irwine did remember her childish days with 
the discipline of the Burton household, and how child- 
ish faults had been rigorously punished, but she only 
smiled. 

But disciplining one’s children and one’s grand- 
children are two very different things, so Mrs. Irwine 
had found. By this time several of the young aunts 
had joined Mrs. Burton, and there was quite a proces- 
sion outside, imploring and demanding the release of 
the culprit. 


HOW MARJORIE RAN AWAY. 


187 


“Very well, mother, and girls, I will turn Marjorie 
over to you, and if she grows up to be a spoiled, horrid 
child, it won’t be my fault,” and Mrs. Irwine put on 
her hat and walked off, leaving the besieging party 
triumphant, but rather crestfallen, even in the midst 
of their triumph. 

As for Marjorie, after gaining her victory, she was 
so good for days after, that Mrs. Irwine relented, and 
thought perhaps she had been too hasty and severe. 

About this time, however, Marjorie developed a 
habit of saying every time she was refused anything, 
or crossed in anyway: 

“Well, I don’t care, I don’t love you and I’se goin’ 
to run away.” 

The little maid was naturally such a sweet winsome 
little thing, with the sunniest disposition and face like 
an angel; a mass of bright golden curls framed the 
rosy cheeks, and big blue eyes, and the button hole of 
a mouth seemed just made for kisses, so that for her 
to scowl and say cross ugly words, seemed very strange 
to her papa und mamma. 

“Something will have to be done, Mary,” remarked 
Capt. Irwine very gravely one evening, as nurse dis- 
appeared, carrying Marjorie off to bed, the child 
screaming out : 

“I don’t want to go to bed; I don't love you and 
I’se goin’ to run away.” 

“Yes, Jack,” assented Mrs. Irwine; then suddenly 
she exclaimed: “ I have it; the next time she threatens 


1 88 HOW MARJORIE RAN A WA Y. 

to run away, I will have nurse pack her trunk and 
give her a little hand bag, take her down to the gate, 
and tell her to run away.” 

“Good,” said the Captain, “and to-morrow is our 
opportunity When your father and the boys are 
safely off to the city, and your mother and the girls 
have started for the tennis party at the Loverings, we 
will settle Miss Irwine if I am not much mistaken, 
once and for all.” 

When Mrs. Irwine had heard Marjorie lisp her 
evening prayers, which always ended with this petition 
of Marjorie’s composition : “ Blessed Mother in Heaven, 
pray that Marjorie may be a better girl,” she said 
impressively: “Now, little daughter, papa and I have 
decided that the very next time you threaten to run 
away, you will have to go; we don’t care to have a 
little girl stay with us against her will.” 

This point of view had not struck the young lady 
before, so it was in a very subdued voice that she 
answered : 

“ Oh, mamma, I will not say it any more, I will be 
a good girl always now.” 

“ I hope so, indeed, my darling,” replied mamma, 
“and now go to sleep. Good-night, and God bless 
you, sweetheart.” 

****** 

Grandmamma and all the aunts had just driven off 
and Marjorie had waved them a smiling good-by, but 


HOW MARJORIE RAN A WA Y. 189 

when mamma said: “Come now, girlie, it is time for 
your afternoon nap,” Marjorie, forgetting her good 
resolution of the night before, frowned and remarked 
fretfully, “ I isn’t sleepy, I don’t want to take a nap.” 

“Yes, but you must; see, there is nurse now,” 
answered mamma pleasantly. 

“I won't take a nap,” wailed spoiled Marjorie, “I 
don’t love you; I’se goin’ to run away.” 

Fatal words; mamma’s indulgent manner changed 
at once. 

“Very well, nurse, Marjorie need not take her nap, 
she is going to leave us; just go and pack her trunk, 
and bring down her best hat, her gloves and parasol ; 
it will be very warm going to the train.” 

Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Irwine escorted the 
little girl to the gate, gave her a small satchel, 
and after remarking that her trunk would be sent 
down to the depot at once, bade her a polite but 
cool good-by. 

A high thick hedge screened the Burton grounds 
from the high road, so Mrs. Irwine easily kept pace 
with the little forlorn figure, obstinately determined 
upon her own way. 

Just then the grocer’s man drove along, and Marjorie 
at once hailed him 

“I wish you would drive me to the train at once, 
John; grandmamma has the carriage, and it is too 
warm to walk.” 


190 


HOW MARJORIE RAN AWAY . 


“Bless us, and save us,” murmured the astonished 
man; “my, ain’t she jest smart for a baby?” 

“ Say, Sissy, I guess you’ve run away, an’ I’d better 
carry you to your ma.” 

“My name is Marjorie, not Sissy,” in dignified dis- 
pleasure, “and my mamma knows I’ve runned away; 
she — she — helped me to;” there was just a suspicion 
of a sob in these last words, and it was all Mrs. Irwine 
could do to prevent herself from interfering. 

“All right, young lady, just wait till I deliver these 
goods to your house, and I’ll give you a lift,” said the 
man, willing to humor the pretty child, but determined 
to find out what it all meant. 

Mrs. Irwine met him at the gate and soon explained 
matters, whereupon John chuckled and entered heartily 
into the plan. 

“If you say so, mum, I’ll buy her a ticket for Glen- 
wood, it’s only an hour’s ride, and see her safe aboard 
the train, and you kin take a seat right behind her. I’ll 
take care as she don’t see you a-gettin’ aboard the 
train. 

“ I think that’ll cure the young lady, sure, when she 
finds herself all alone, and traveling away from home 
as fast as the cars kin go; you can meet the down 
train from the city at Glenwood, the one Mr. Burton 
and the young gentlemen usually come down on.” 

This plan was carried out successfully, and the after- 
noon “flyer” carried with it a very determined looking 
little passenger, who sat bolt upright in her chair in 


HOW MARJORIE RAN AWAY. 


191 


the parlor car, with her ticket clasped tight in one 
little hand, and her precious hand-bag in the other. 

Matters had been explained to the conductor, so 
when he reached Marjorie and called “Tickets,” he 
stopped to have a little chat with her. 

“Aren’t you rather young to be traveling alone, 
Miss?” he remarked pleasantly. 

“I’se over jive , I isn’t a baby" replied Miss Marjorie 
scornfully. 

“May I ask how far you are going?” 

“Oh, dear, I’se fordotten!” exclaimed the little 
girl excitedly, “but my ticket says,” she added 
quickly. 

“Ah, yes! I see,” said the interested conductor. 
“ Do you intend visiting friends? Perhaps you expect 
your mamma and papa to meet you? ” 

“No, I don’t; I’se, I’se runned away, you see, and 
they don’t want me any more.” 

“Runaway? well! well! I’m sorry to hear that; I 
can’t approve of any such proceeding; you don’t look 
like a naughty child,” and with that the kind conductor 
marched off, looking very stern, and leaving poor 
Marjorie feeling more friendless than ever. 

As the minutes sped away, and the train flew along, 
carrying the child further away from all her dear ones, 
a very subdued and frightened expression began to 
settle down on the poor baby’s face, and presently 
Mrs. Irwine who sat just back of the little one, where 
she could watch every movement, saw great tears roll 


192 HOW MARJORIE RAN AWAY. 

down Marjorie’s cheeks, and then a sweet small voice 
sobbed, “I want my mamma, I don’t want to run 
away.” 

The sobs kept on increasing in volume as poor 
Marjorie thought of the desolate fate which awaited 
her at Glenwood, until catching sight of the conductor 
at the further end of the car, she jumped from her 
chair, scattering gloves, parasol, and bag, and ran 
down the aisle crying wildly, “Stop, stop, oh, please 
stop, I want my mamma.” 

“Will you promise me never, never, to run away 
again, or even to say you will run away,” said the big 
conductor, catching the forlorn little figure in his 
arms. 

“Yes, yes,” promised Marjorie, quite breathless 
with grief and terror. “ Oh! I do want my mamma! ” 

“Very well,” said her new friend, “now remember 
your promise,” and instantly she found herself in her 
mamma’s arms, and was soon sobbing out her grief 
and repentance clasped close to mamma’s loving heart. 

Grandpapa, grandmamma, uncles and aunts were 
disposed to be indignant over mamma’s “plan for 
curing the little runaway, and would have petted and 
comforted the culprit until she would have felt more 
like a heroine, than a naughty little girl brought back 
home in disgrace, but that Captain Irwine for once 
interfered very peremptorily, and sent Miss Marjorie, 
as meek as a lamb, off to her bed. 

And though the family did think the treatment too 


HO W MARJORIE RAN A WA Y. 


*93 


heroic, still they had to admit the improvement in the 
little culprit. 

Perhaps the cure had been rather severe, still it had 
been very thorough. 

But that evening Captain Irwine asked confidentially 
as his wife sat with him on the porch waiting for him 
to finish his cigar: ‘‘Mary, how ever did you hold out 
so long? I’m sure I couldn’t, for I will confess to you 
that I find it harder to discipline this one child, than 
my whole company.” 

“Well, Jack,” returned his wife laughingly, “you’ve 
always said Marjorie inherited her obstinacy from me, 
so perhaps it was that trait of mine that enabled me 
to hold out long enough to conquer our young lady.” 


V 










